Discovering Omaha
by dettiot
Summary: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter.  For Sarah, it's a mission.  But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?  Pre-series alternate universe.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 1/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance enounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: I know there's tons of AUs out there imagining Chuck not getting expelled from Stanford, so I hope you enjoy my take on that situation. In addition, some chapters, like this one, are pretty heavy on the exposition, since I'm striving to write this as a bit more realistic and less straight-up romance (but hang in there if you're here for the romance). I hope this is a fun read!

XXX

Sarah Walker was the first one to say that her upbringing had been nontraditional, to say the least.

The daughter of a con man who was recruited into the CIA at seventeen, she had spent most of her life in motion, spending weeks or sometimes only days in towns and cities scattered across the United States. Joining the CIA meant going to Harvard, thanks to some Agency finagling, and spending summers and breaks at the Farm for advanced training. By the time she had turned nineteen, she was working in the field and honing her instincts for undercover work and split-second decision making. Now, in February of 2003, she was twenty-one, a Harvard graduate (finishing her economics degree a semester early thanks to more CIA finagling) and widely known as Director Graham's most promising agent.

So she wasn't prepared to hear that her next assignment meant she'd be going on Spring Break.

Even with all her training, Sarah knew her eyes had widened slightly at Graham's words. "Excuse me, sir?" she asked, fully aware of what he had said but still very confused.

"Spring break, Agent Walker. I'm sure you've heard of it." Graham's voice was amused.

"Of course I have, Director-"

Graham cut her off before she dug the hole any deeper. "You will be working with an unusual group of recruits. They-and you-will be part of Project Omaha, which is the Agency's joint intelligence gathering and analysis project with our colleagues in Fort Meade."

Sarah schooled her features, even as she felt her heart rate pick up. Everyone had been buzzing about the CIA/NSA taskforce that was implementing the 9/11 Commission's recommendations to improve the United States' intelligence network, in light of the failures exposed by the September 11th terrorist attacks. To be a part of such a high-priority project could mean very good things for her future.

The director handed her a file folder. "Your mission parameters are there, along with some research materials. Your first action as part of Project Omaha is to assist with the vetting of candidates that have been identified by those who know what we're looking for."

He paused before continuing, his voice even more serious than usual. "This isn't like evaluating other recruits. Several of the candidates don't fit our normal recruit models, yet their skills are so important to this project that we cannot let these individuals refuse our invitation to become part of the CIA. Due to the importance of Project Omaha, we need to know what to expect from these potential recruits, both when we alert them to our interest and once they begin their training."

Sarah nodded. "Yes, sir."

Graham rose to his feet. "I have every confidence in you, Sarah. I know deep cover is your preferred track, but do well with Omaha and you can write your own ticket."

"Yes, sir, I understand." Sarah stood as well and gave him a smile that revealed only a fraction of the excitement she felt. "Thank you, sir."

She walked to the door that lead to the outer office, eager to dive into the file folder and discover what exactly her assignment would entail.

XXX

Sarah frowned as she watched the bodies on her computer screen. Was this what spring break was all about? Being drunk in the middle of the day, frat boys high-fiving as their buddies groped clearly-intoxicated girls in skimpy bikinis, while loud, ear-splitting music played?

She wrinkled her nose. It looked like she hadn't missed out on much after all.

Turning away from the footage of MTV's Spring Break 2002, Sarah once again reviewed the mission specs. Project Omaha was investigating methods of non-traditional data storage via encoded images, allowing intelligence to be freed from microdots, hard drives and other physical storage units. She shook her head, amazed at the sheer audacity of it all. Having images that seemed completely innocuous but actually contained intel . . . it was gutsy, risky, and incredibly clever.

There wasn't much in the files about just how agents were going to decode the images and retrieve the data, but Sarah knew that aspect of the mission was still months away. For now, the priority was evaluating the recruits for Project Omaha and determining how strong each candidate was.

And the CIA, in all its genius, had decided to do that by sending agents to interview recruits as fellow spring break partiers.

Sarah knew that the idea would allow the candidates to be seen in a setting when their inhibitions were lowered and barriers were flexible, thus giving a truer picture of the candidate's reaction to stress and pressure. But that didn't mean she was all that happy about playing a dumb coed.

She sighed softly. She knew that honestly, this assignment wasn't so bad. It skirted the edge of seduction: it was more important to see the candidate interact with her than to gain information from him.

Because she had definitely noticed that all the recruits she'd be evaluating were men. They fit a fairly standard profile: nineteen to twenty-two years of age, divorced or neglectful parents, and highly intelligent. Otherwise, it was a mix of ethnicity, background, college major and other factors.

There were five candidates she would be evaluating. Four of them, in spite of Graham's remark that they didn't fit the standard mold, seemed pretty interchangeable to her: conventionally attractive, well-to-do, average.

The fifth one, though, didn't fit. Sarah couldn't completely explain why. Sure, he was more quirky handsome than male model, more of a nerd than the other candidates based on his preferred activities. But there was something about the photo clipped to his file that made Sarah curious.

It was a shame, she thought, that she'd have to evaluate the other candidates first. She checked the mystery man's file again, confirming the scheduling. She would be going to Cabo San Lucas last to interview Charles Irving Bartowski.

XXX

After three weeks of Spring Break, Sarah was ready for tea, Jane Austen, and a floor-length nightgown. Partying on the government's dime had seemed, if not fun, at least better than surveillance assignments in Thailand. But she had quickly grown tired of the wild parties, her assigned wardrobe, and the candidates she had been sent to evaluate.

She couldn't find any red flags about any of them, something that would make Graham and the other directors pleased. But none of them were men that she found all that interesting. Acting like she was enthralled by their every word and making her questions seem flirty instead of meaningful took all of her acting ability.

Sarah sighed as she slowly walked through the crowds that lined the Golden Corridor. At least she was nearly done. Charles Bartowski was part of a group that checked into three rooms at the Sheraton Hacienda del Mar last night. Tonight, according to the bugs she'd placed in the rooms, the group was going to hit a few of the nightclubs near their hotel. She had done some initial recon on the places mentioned and felt prepared to approach Bartowski-or Chuck, as his friends seemed to call him. Not that she would call him anything other than Bartowski. This wasn't a date: it was work.

The sooner she finished here, the sooner she could go home. That's what this was all about, she told herself, even as she smoothed down her skirt. No one had to know that she had gone through her entire spring break wardrobe to come up with tonight's outfit, or that she was actually looking forward to evaluating this candidate, not because he was the last one on her list but because he seemed . . . interesting.

With practiced ease, she ambled along the Corridor near the main entrance to the Sheraton, sipping a virgin daiquiri and waiting for Bartowski and his friends to leave the hotel. After an hour of listening to the audio surveillance, she was ready to find another way of setting up a meet when she heard the sound of doors closing. She kept her eyes on the hotel entrance while acting like she was just hanging around, and soon she spotted the target.

Putting aside the fact that the CIA was eager to recruit him, Chuck Bartowski stood out. From his file, she knew he was listed as six feet plus; she guessed he hit about six-four. His build was lanky, the kind that still looked a bit gawky and awkward even at his age. He smiled a lot, at his friends, at the people he passed in the street. He wasn't one of the loud, high-fiving guys in his group, but he was definitely someone that everyone liked and enjoyed being with. He was seemingly dressed for comfort, not flash, in a dark-red t-shirt with Stanford across his chest, jeans and a pair of black sneakers.

Sarah took all this in as she watched the group exit the hotel and make their way along the Golden Corridor. Based on both their loose-limbed walks and what she had heard over her earwig, they had been pre-gaming in their hotel rooms, but Chu-Bartowski seemed fairly sober. From his file, he definitely seemed the designated driver type, the one to look out for his friends even during the debauchery of spring break.

She started tailing the group, still observing Bartowski. He spent most of the time talking to another one of his friends, shorter and eerily pretty. It seemed like his friend was urging Bartowski to do something that he wasn't very excited about. Taking a risk, Sarah got closer.

"All I'm saying is, it's been two months and you're still calling her. You've gotta let it go, man."

"I know," Bartowski said with a sigh. "But it was just out of nowhere, Bryce. One day we were happy, and the next, she was breaking up with me."

Bryce? Sarah made a face. And here she thought Chuck had been an embarrassing name.

"You guys weren't that happy. Remember what happened last Christmas?" Bryce challenged Bartowski.

"Oh, God, don't remind me. Ellie still is upset about how Jill acted. When I told her that Jill had broken up with me, she was ready to throw a party," he said glumly.

Sarah dropped back, letting him and the rest of the group move away. So Bartowski had been dumped. His file had contained a reference to a steady girlfriend, but no info about a break-up. That definitely made her job easier. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. This wasn't a seduction mission.

After a half-hour walk, she saw the group walk into one of the beach-front nightclubs. She followed them in, sticking to a dimly-lit corner of the room. She wanted Bartowski to have time to relax and get comfortable before she made her move.

It took an hour and a half before she judged he was ready. His friends had bought him a couple of shots, and he was now talking animatedly and even giving a few high-fives. Sarah downed the last of her second beer and rolled her shoulders. Then she walked towards the dance floor that opened up on the line of booths that included the one in which Bartowski and his friends were sitting.

Sarah might look like a normal coed, a bit tipsy and lost in the music. She spun around, moving in time with the music as she danced. But she wasn't normal. Her half-closed eyes darted around, checking to see if Bartowski was watching her. She added an extra measure of sensuality to her moves, seeking to draw attention to herself. It wasn't in the normal spy rulebook, but Sarah had found that sometimes it paid to stand out.

After just a few moments, she saw that Bartowski was walking towards the bar, and he was alone. She let her moves grow a touch more uncontrolled, a bit looser, until she spun directly into his path.

They bumped into each other, and Sarah immediately put on her giggly coed act. "Oh! I'm sorry-I'm so clumsy." She smiled up at him, a bright uninhibited smile. A smile that Sarah Walker never used unless she was a mission.

Bartowski looked shell-shocked. Like no one had ever smiled at him. Then, as if he was suddenly realizing that he was staring at her with his mouth open, he took a step back. "No, no, it was my fault," he said, his eyes wide. "I wasn't watching where I was going-are you okay?"

"I'm good," Sarah reassured him. "But I'd be better with a drink." She turned down the wattage on her smile, making it more intimate.

To her surprise, Chuck responded with a bright smile of his own. "It's the least I could do after almost running you over. But since I don't buy drinks for strangers-" He held his hand out to her. "Hi, I'm Chuck."

For a second, she looked at him, making mental notes, wondering if this was the type of candidate that Project Omaha really wanted. This nerd who seemed to be a sweet guy. But it wasn't her call. She was just here to observe. So she reached out and shook his hand, and smiled back at him. "Hi, Chuck. I'm Sarah."

End, Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 2/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s****Note**: A switch to Chuck's POV for this chapter. From here on out, the POVs will alternate between Sarah and Chuck. Many thanks to **Lipton****Lee** for helping me with Chuck's voice.

XXX

The trip to Cabo had been Bryce's idea.

"C'mon, Chuck. You need to have some fun. Live a little."

Chuck, buried in code printouts, two different colored highlighters in his mouth, grunted. Bryce rolled his eyes and tried again.

"Buddy, you've buried yourself in your classes ever since Jill . . ." Chuck did his best to glare at him, but Bryce just grinned and went on. "You're gonna kill yourself if you keep this up, and with being nearly done, it'd suck if you didn't make it to graduation."

Chuck spit out the highlighters and sighed. "I get it, Bryce. I haven't been a lot of fun lately."

"It's not that," Bryce said, flopping down at the end of Chuck's bed. "I'm worried about you. And since the frat's getting a bunch of stuff comped by the resort in Cabo, it'll barely cost you anything. You already said that Ellie was going away with her friends-what are you gonna do, sit around the whole break and play video games? You've done that every other spring break. This is your last chance to cut loose, have some real fun south of the border." Bryce smirked, clearly referring to more than just the destination of the trip.

Chuck pulled a pillow out from behind him and threw it at Bryce. He nimbly caught it and tossed it back at Chuck.

"Do you promise not to do that again? That whole 'south of the border' thing?" Chuck asked, knowing it was probably hopeless. "Because . . . because that was awful. Really, really awful."

"I'll promise to try," Bryce said with a grin. "Does that mean you're in?"

Chuck looked down at the printouts in his lap. He had thought he'd go home, hang out with Morgan, get a jump on his final projects. It'd be the responsible thing to do. It'd be the safe thing. It'd be the Chuck thing to do.

And suddenly, the last person he wanted to be was Chuck, who was going to graduate Stanford summa cum laude and go to work for some software company and cash out in ten years. Not when Chuck was the one to get dumped by the girl he had been planning to propose to.

"You know what, Bryce? I'm in."

XXX

If angels existed and if they ever smiled, they probably looked something like Sarah, Chuck thought in the back of his head as she shook his hand. This girl-no, woman-this woman was the most beautiful female he had ever seen, in person or on screen.

And she was talking to him. To Chuck Bartowski, who was pretty smart and just the person to talk to about your physics homework, but not the kind of guy who got absolutely gorgeous women talking to him.

It wasn't like she was really talking to him, though. He was just buying her a drink to make up for clobbering her. And for staring at her like he was the village idiot. But when you run into a beautiful woman who was wearing an insanely short skirt and a black bikini top under a thin white tank top, no man could be held accountable for letting his brain wander for a moment. Or seven.

"So . . . so what's your poison?" he asked her as they stepped up to the bar.

"Whatever you're having," she said, leaning in towards him in order to be heard over the music, he guessed. Although the music wasn't that loud.

"I was gonna get a tequila shot . . ." he said, looking down into her very blue eyes.

She grinned in a way that was both cheeky and really, really hot. "Then that's what I'll have."

"All right, then," Chuck said, finding her grin infectious. "Barkeep, two tequila shots, please." He pulled out his wallet and slapped down enough pesos for the drinks and a nice tip. Bryce always said that when you were trying to impress a girl, you made sure to leave good tips. Chuck always countered that regardless of impressing a girl, you left a good tip.

"So . . . Chuck. It's an interesting name," Sarah said, leaning against the bar and facing him.

"My parents are sadists," he said, using his standard response. He grinned to let her know he was joking, and she grinned back.

"Makes you wish you could name yourself," she commented.

"You don't know how many times I've wished that," Chuck said, mirroring her position. "I'd have picked something a lot better than Chuck. Like . . . Maverick."

She let out a laugh and reached over to take the shots from the bartender. She handed him one and raised hers in a toast. "To wishes."

He found himself caught in her gaze. In his attempts during this trip to be someone other than himself, he found that the real Chuck kept slipping back out. He had felt embarrassed that he couldn't go crazy like Bryce and the rest of his frat brothers. But maybe . . . maybe that wasn't so bad. Not when it brought a woman like Sarah into his life, if only for the time it took to drink a shot.

So he gave the beautiful, alluring woman in front of him a smile and raised his shot. "To wishes."

XXX

He must have done something really, really good. Like preventing an endangered species from going extinct, or giving a desperate person the chance they needed to change their life. Maybe he had indirectly saved the president from an assassination attempt. How else could he explain how he was walking on a Mexican beach with a woman who took his breath away?

After the shots, he hadn't been sure what to do or say, but Sarah seemed to know. She began asking him questions: where he was from, what his major was. It was easy to talk to her. She listened so hard. It was like they were the only two people in the whole nightclub.

He had offered to buy her another drink after they spent several minutes talking, but she had smiled and declined. "The line between attractive tipsy girl and ugly drunk girl is pretty thin. A few beers and two shots is my limit."

Chuck, who was feeling tipsy and from more than the alcohol, couldn't let her remark go. "I don't think you could ever be ugly."

Some emotion he couldn't identify flickered in her eyes and then it was gone. "You never know," she said, her voice light.

He arched an eyebrow at her and grinned. "You've been asking me a lot of questions-how about I ask you some?"

"Oh, I'm not that interesting. Just your average spring break-er," Sarah said.

Chuck shook his head. "The last thing you are is average."

To his delight, Sarah laughed. "Wow. This, all the charm? It's nice."

He knew his smile was becoming scarily similar to a clown's, but he didn't care. "I'm charming, huh?"

"Maybe," Sarah said, giving him a coy smile. "Hey, why don't we go take a walk on the beach? We could talk some more."

He almost did a double-take. She wanted to spend more time with him? That . . . that was unexpected. And really, really awesome. But mostly unexpected, and now kind of terrifying.

Sarah took his hand and started pulling him towards the beach exit. Chuck managed to catch Bryce's eye and wave before Sarah got him out of the nightclub.

And now, here they were. She had dropped his hand once they were outside, but she was staying very close to him as they walked across the sand. Contrary to her offer, she had fallen silent as they walked, and he didn't want to talk and risk messing this up.

It was nice. Walking on a moonlit beach, with the waves crashing against the shore, the sound of music and talking and laughter drifting from the various bars and clubs as they walked past.

More than nice.

Almost like she was reading his mind, Sarah spoke softly. "It's beautiful here."

He looked at her. "Yeah . . . it really is."

She gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry to be leaving. Tonight's my last night."

"Oh," Chuck said, feeling his stomach drop with the disappointment. "That's-that's too bad."

She nodded. "Yeah. The friend I came here with, she had to leave early because her mom got sick. So it's been kinda lonely, being here by myself."

"When you're all alone in a crowd, it makes you feel even more alone," he said, remembering those times in high school, even college, when that feeling had swept over him. The sense of being different, of nobody understanding how he thought or acted..

Sarah slowed her walk as she looked up at him, her face soft in the moonlight. "Yeah, exactly."

Now that they were alone, she seemed different from the girl she had been in the bar. And Chuck liked this Sarah even more.

They had reached a section of beach that was quieter, without any nearby clubs. He gestured to the sand. "Do you want to sit down?"

She smiled at him. "Sure," she said, gracefully dropping onto the sand, her endless legs stretched out in front of her. Chuck sat down, trying to be as graceful as possible, and crossed his legs.

"Looking at the ocean always makes me think about the big questions," she said quietly.

He looked at the side of her face. "Yeah?"

Sarah nodded and leaned back on her hands. "Yeah. Life, death, all those things. The secret of the universe." She looked at him and gave him a small smile. "What do you think? What's the secret to the universe?"

"Forty-two," he answered without thinking. Sarah looked confused, her nose wrinkling in an adorable way. Chuck grinned sheepishly. "It's from _The __Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide __to __the __Galaxy_. The answer to all of life's questions is forty-two."

"Forty-two what?" Sarah asked, still looking confused.

Chuck shrugged. "Whatever you want it to be."

She laughed softly. "It's as good of an answer as anything, I guess."

"Yeah," he said with a grin, ducking his head and feeling his face flush. It might be possible to be a bigger nerd right now, and he was a bit embarrassed to realize he could come up with seven different options without even thinking hard. But the last thing he wanted right now was to out himself like that.

She leaned over, nudging him with her shoulder. "Why's it called _The_ _Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide __to __the __Galaxy_?"

He looked at her in surprise. "You really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," she said with a smile. "C'mon, tell me."

Chuck took a breath. This was a bit nerve-wracking. More than a bit. Jill had been nerdy like him and she had liked him for being a nerd. At least, that's what he had always thought, until she broke up with him. Going on an extended riff about the brilliance of Douglas Adams wouldn't exactly be conducive to the whole "being someone else" plan. And even though Sarah was only here for tonight, he really, really wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.

"Earth to Chuck," she said softly. "Everything okay?"

He shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine." He smiled at her a bit and started explaining _Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide_ to her. Because . . . because she wanted to know, and he liked the feeling he got when she listened to him. It made him feel good. Confident. Like maybe, just once, he could make things go his way.

Sarah followed along with the story, laughing at the funny parts. When he ran out of steam, she smiled at him. "It sounds good. I'll have to find a copy of it sometime. Once I graduate maybe, and can think about something other than economics."

Chuck laughed softly. "Yeah, I hear you."

The breeze kicked up, and Sarah shivered a little. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Cold?" Chuck asked, moving towards her.

She nodded and leaned into him, almost snuggling against him. His palms immediately became clammy. "You're warm," she said, looking up at him.

He swallowed. "Um . . . yeah, I've always run a bit hot." He almost winced. "A bit hot"? He waited for her to burst out laughing and then tell him he must be dreaming if he thought he was hot.

She didn't laugh. She gazed at him, her face catching the light from the moon. Chuck felt his breath catch. This moment, it was leading towards what he thought it was leading towards, wasn't it? Because J-people had always said he was pretty oblivious for a smart guy, but Sarah wanted him to kiss her, didn't she? That's what all these signals meant, that's what his whole body wanted him to do.

He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. What was it about her that made all his doubts fall away? He felt himself lean towards her, seeing her eyes widen. He paused, giving her a chance to pull away.

She stayed where she was, not moving. Her face was a bit flushed, and she was breathing shallowly. And her eyes . . . they were locked on his, sending him a silent message to kiss her.

It wasn't like him to kiss a woman he'd just met. A woman he barely knew, and wouldn't get to know any better. But at that moment, Chuck knew that all he wanted in the whole universe was to kiss Sarah.

So he closed the gap between them and softly pressed his lips against hers.

End, Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 3/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: I want to say thank you to everyone who's left a review and/or set an alert for this story. It's a huge pleasure for me, seeing that people like my AU idea, and I hope you keep enjoying the story! Now for Sarah's reaction to what happened in Mexico . . .

XXX

Her heels tapped out a staccato rhythm as she strode across the marble floored-lobby of CIA headquarters. Dressed in a fitted black skirt suit, her hair pulled back in a bun, Sarah Walker meant business. She was one of the most promising agents under twenty-five in the Agency; she was beautiful and smart and deadly.

And she would not let herself think about what she let happen last week in Cabo.

Sarah took the elevator to the fifth floor and navigated through the maze of offices and cubicles, her eyes focused. She had reports to write on the five Project Omaha candidates she had evaluated, then she had scheduled time on the shooting range to practice with her new sidearm, a Smith & Wesson 5906. At the end of the day, she had a briefing on her role in Project Omaha training classes and then she would hit the gym.

She nodded to a few agents on her way to the cubicle she'd been assigned. It was a temporary home until she reported to the Omaha location, so she hadn't bothered with personalizing it. Not that it mattered; she was a spy. Spies had whatever personality the mission required.

Taking a seat in the wheeled desk chair, Sarah turned on the computer and logged into her account. She opened her briefcase and pulls out her files and notes, her movements precise and measured. No unnecessary energy exerted.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she jerked, turning in her chair and pulling back her fist.

"Whoa, Walker!" Agent Kieran Ryker had moved back, his hands up. He gave her a slick smile. "I come in peace."

Sarah took as deep a breath as she could without looking like she was taking a deep breath. "Agent Ryker. I'm sorry."

"It's what I get for sneaking up on the best," he said, perching himself on the corner of her desk.

She managed a wan smile.

"I heard about Omaha. Congratulations," he said, a touch of envy in his voice.

"Thank you," Sarah said, keeping her face expressionless. Ryker set off her warning bells. She never felt like she could trust him-he was too ambitious, too ready to bend the rules if the rules were standing in the way.

"You'll have to be careful-you don't want the NSA to rub off on you," Ryker said, smirking.

"Ha," Sarah said with a ghost of a laugh. "Thanks for the advice." She turned back to her files, rearranging them and giving him a clear signal that the conversation was over.

Ryker nodded to her. "Any time, Agent Walker." He got up and moved away, and Sarah felt the tension ease inside her.

The tension returned once she looked down at her files. For a moment, she stared at the innocuous-looking folders. They were all the same: brown with a typed label bearing a number only. She had no way of knowing which folder was which. No way of knowing which one was the one that she . . .

It was like the shell game her father used to pull when they were in tourist areas. He'd set up a table on the boardwalk or at an amusement park, using his charm to lure in marks and dazzle them with his sleight-of-hand. Whether it was a quarter or a twenty under the shell, his routine was the same, moving the shells around while he kept up a running patter. He was so good that no one ever realized they were getting taken, even when they thought they had won.

He had taught her how to do the shell game herself. But although she had the dexterity, she didn't have the same qualities he did-the charisma, the showman's flair, the desire to be the center of attention. And maybe she just didn't want to steal from people.

Sarah let herself take a full, deep breath. She had a responsibility to write a full, impartial report on each candidate, leaving out her personal opinions and only considering each recruit's suitability for Project Omaha. She could do this. She would do this. And she wouldn't let her emotions get in the way.

She took the first folder off the pile and opened it, revealing the photo of Peter Winters: Caucasian, five foot eleven, twenty, chemistry major and rugby player.

That wasn't relief she felt. Not at all.

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah picked up her notes and opened the report template on her computer, typing quickly as she began writing her evaluation.

XXX

Chu-Bartowski's file was the fourth folder. When she opened the folder, she felt that same pull she had felt the first time she saw his picture. It was interest and curiosity and other emotions that she didn't want to name-didn't even know how to name.

Especially not after Cabo and the beach and . . . and the kiss.

_With all the time he was taking to kiss her, her thoughts should have been racing with ways to get out of this situation. This hadn't happened with any of the other recruits; there had been no long looks in the moonlight, no butterflies in her stomach, no potential kisses. _

_Long before now, she should have gotten this interview back on track. But that was the last thing she wanted, not as he got closer and closer . . . _

_When he finally kissed her, his lips soft against hers, her eyes drifted shut. It felt so good that she couldn't help it, even though she had been trained to keep her eyes half-open during intimate situations in order to maintain awareness of her surroundings. _

_She had been kissed before. A few random dates, seduction school, and the boyfriend she'd had for two months during her first year of college. Some of them had been amazing kissers, full of skill and confidence. But something about Chuck's tender, soft kiss made them all fade in her memory. His kiss was like him: sweet, sincere, charming but unaware of it. _

_After just a few moments, he pulled away, his breath washing over her lips. She opened her eyes to find his face close to hers, his eyes shut. She didn't understand how this had happened: how Agent Walker had approached him, confident in her abilities to interview a potential recruit, only to be replaced by Sarah, a woman who liked the funny, smart nerd she had bumped into. _

_Sarah felt herself lean in towards him an inch, her eyes on his lips. Her movement must have been a bit clumsier than normal, for his eyes opened and caught hers. And the dazed, happy expression in his warm brown eyes made her body tense. This . . . this wasn't what she was supposed to be doing. _

_He blinked, the fog clearing from his eyes. "Sarah?"_

_She swallowed and pulled away, scooting across the sand to put some distance between them. It wasn't enough, and she stood up. _

_Chuck scrambled to his feet. "Sarah-I'm sorry, I must have . . ."_

_Her voice sounded breathy and weak to her own ears. "No, it's-it's me." She searched her mind for some kind of explanation. "I . . . I'm still getting over a bad break-up, and I'm-"_

_"Oh," he said, his face falling. His expression, so confused and disappointed, made her feel like she had kicked a three-legged puppy. "Oh, I'm sorry . . ."_

_She had to get away. From him, from this beach, from the moonlight. "You-you don't have to be sorry. It was my fault for . . ." For what? For trying to be someone other than herself? _

_Sarah shook her head. "I'm sorry. I have to go."_

_"Let me get you a cab," he said. "It's not safe out here for someone who's alone."_

_His concern made her even more jittery, her nerves frayed from all these unexpected emotions. "I'm fine," she said. She risked one last look at him. "Good night, Chuck." _

_And with that, she turned and ran from him, towards the brightly-lit bars filled with strangers who wouldn't look twice at a blonde in a too-short skirt who had just made a fool of herself. _

XXX

Sarah narrowed her eyes as she faced the target, her gun held steadily in her hands. Then, with no hesitation she emptied the magazine, firing ten times.

She set the safety and put down the Smith & Wesson, pressing the button that would bring the target forward. With one hand she pulled off the ear protection she was wearing while she took the target down, just as the shooting range attendant limped up to her booth.

"Agent Walker, you wanted me to remind you when it was twenty of three."

"Thank you, Alex," she said, as she scanned her last target. She had been practicing with her new weapon for two weeks, but she still wasn't satisfied with how she was shooting.

Alex, an ex-field operative who now served as a shooting instructor, looked at the target over her shoulder. "Not bad."

"I'm pulling a little bit to the left," she said, frowning. "I thought I had compensated for it, but I'll have to keep practicing."

Alex snorted. "I'm all for perfection, but there is going too far, Agent Walker." He waved his hand at the target, gesturing at the clump of shots just above the right eye. "A kill shot is a kill shot, even if it's a few millimeters off."

Sarah managed a smile at him. "This from the man who says you can't be too precise?"

Alex shrugged and smiled at her. He held his hand out for her protective wear, and Sarah handed him her glasses and ear protectors.

With quick movements, she reloaded her weapon, holstered it, and picked up her targets. She tucked them under her arm and headed back to her cubicle. Today's meeting was one she had been nervous about for weeks, ever since she had submitted her evaluations of the Project Omaha candidates. Today, the list of candidates would be finalized.

Stepping into a large meeting room on the first floor of CIA headquarters, Sarah scanned the room automatically. Director Graham was at the front of the room, along with two CIA deputy directors. He nodded to her as she took a seat to his left, about halfway down one of the conference tables that was perpendicular to the one Graham was sharing with General Diane Beckman of the NSA.

Sarah folded her hands in front of her, waiting for the meeting to begin. It didn't take long; neither Graham nor Beckman were known as people willing to be kept waiting.

"Good afternoon," Graham's deep voice rumbled through the room. The fifteen CIA and NSA agents, including Sarah, straightened in their chairs. "Let's get started," Graham said, nodding to a technician who stood at the ready. The tech leaned over a softly humming laptop and started a slideshow presentation on the large display screens. A female recruit's photo and resume appeared on the screens. Graham turned to an agent who was across from Sarah. "Agent Parker, please discuss Candidate 12."

As the agent recited his evaluation of the candidate, Sarah focused intently. She controlled her breathing and monitored everyone closely. When one of her candidates appeared on screen, she spoke dispassionately, echoing what she had included in her reports. As she spoke, she observed the room, watching for anyone taking an extra interest in what she was saying.

It was like playing her father's shell game. She had to hide her feelings under a shell and keep it moving, not attracting any attention to the shell that concealed her true thoughts. Like the fact that she was reconsidering her initial report on Chuck Bartowski.

She had indicated that he would have to be handled carefully in order to reach his full potential. Yet the more she had thought about it, as unwilling as she was to keep revisiting her memories of that night in Cabo, the more she thought that Project Omaha wasn't the right fit. That the CIA as a whole would not know how to maximize all of Chuck Bartowski's potential.

The review was a slow process. With the number of agents in the room, she had conservatively estimated that they would have sixty candidates to discuss. In most cases, it was a simple yes or no; only a few recruits sparked prolonged discussion. It gave her too much time to think. It was after six o'clock by the time the last recruit was up for discussion.

If it was possible, Graham's voice sounded almost awed when he introduced Candidate 99. "Last but not least, the candidate with the highest scores in the visual recognition tests administered by Professor Fleming."

A late middle-aged man, balding and with glasses, leaned forward from his position at the head table, next to General Beckman. Sarah guessed he was Fleming. Graham nodded to the tech, and Chuck Bartowski's face and file appeared on the displays.

Sarah tightened the grip she had on her hands as Graham continued speaking. "Candidate 99 scored a ninety-eight percent during his testing. The next highest candidate scored an eighty-eight point five. In my mind, he's who we've been looking for." Graham looked at Sarah. "Agent Walker, what is your evaluation of this candidate?"

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. In reviewing his file, Sarah had seen his score on the testing, but she hadn't realized it was the top score. That knowledge meant, as Graham said, that there was no way Chuck wouldn't be selected.

Her misgivings about Chuck becoming part of Project Omaha meant nothing. And if she voiced those misgivings, they could be held against her.

"The candidate demonstrated extreme intelligence during his interview," Sarah said, her mouth dry. She licked her lips and continued. "He also exhibited a high degree of emotional awareness-the ability to read people and put them at ease."

Beckman raised an eyebrow. "Your initial report indicated a tendency towards over-sensitivity in this candidate."

"It's true that the candidate's nature is perhaps too considerate towards the feelings of others," Sarah said, feeling like she was damning Chuck for something praiseworthy. "Yet his empathy, his desire to do the right thing, are the same qualities that could make him very successful as an operative."

"And that's how we'll convince him," Graham said. "Playing on his emotions before he's trained to repress them." He looked at Fleming. "You said another recruit had questioned Candidate 99's selection?"

Fleming nodded. "Trainee Larkin-Candidate 99's roommate, coincidentally-wanted him removed from consideration, due to the nature of Project Omaha. He wanted my help to frame Candidate 99 as a cheater, and because of my own concerns about the candidate's scores, I played along with Larkin. I retested 99, using a completely new test, and his results were equally impressive. That alleviated my worries, so I reported Larkin's infraction."

"Why did Larkin do this in the first place?" Beckman asked.

"Larkin, in this case, was compromised by his emotional concerns about his roommate. He attempted to blackball Candidate 99 because he doesn't think Candidate 99 is cut out for field work."

"Hmmm. I think it's safe to say that we have a difference of opinion from the trainee," Graham said dryly. He looked towards the director in charge of agents-in-training. "Larkin has been disciplined?"

"Oh, yes. He'll have to do a year or two in Iceland before he can move up," the director said with a grin.

Chuckles were emitted from the agents in the room. Sarah couldn't laugh, though. Was Chuck's friend Bryce the Trainee Larkin they were talking about? If he was . . . He had put his friendship with Chuck above his career, and he was being punished for it. "Iceland" was code for the worst assignments, the ones that were so boring and thankless that it could take years before you were deemed worthy of a new assignment.

If she had said she agreed with Trainee Larkin, if she had said that Candidate 99 was too kind and too soft for field work, she'd be with Larkin right now. Staying quiet had been the best thing she could do for her career. It was the smart thing to do.

But she was pretty sure it wasn't the right thing to do.

End, Chapter Three

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: I played a bit fast and loose with what happened in _Chuck __vs__. __the __Alma __Mater _for the purposes of this story. Instead of helping Bryce frame Chuck, Professor Fleming only pretended like he would. It didn't make any sense to me that Fleming would sabotage such a prime candidate for a high-level project like Omaha, all on the word of a recruit. So I tried to come up with a way to make what we saw on screen fit with my interpretation and what I wanted to do in this story.

Here's a tease for the next chapter of **Discovering ****Omaha**:

_The professor held up a hand and interrupted him. "Chuck, you're right. This isn't about the final. This is about something much bigger." He leaned forward in his chair. "Have you ever thought about serving your country, Chuck?"_

_Chuck licked his lips nervously. "What, you mean like the Peace Corps? I have to say, Professor, the answer is no. I . . . I like electricity and the Internet and hot water too much, and I think to go overseas you have to get a lot of shots and see, I have this thing about needles-"_

_"Chuck!" Professor Fleming sounded exasperated. He took a deep breath, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "No. Not the Peace Corps. I'm talking about the CIA."_

See you soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 4/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: I should note that my knowledge of "spy stuff" comes from TV and movies. I was an _Alias_ fan back in the day, so that's informed the more cloak-and-dagger elements of this fic. And any time I drive past Fort Meade (which isn't very often since I live on the other side of the Washington, D.C. suburbs), I always wave to Casey. In short, I'm just making this up as I go, based on what feels right for the story.

XXX

Chuck sighed in relief as he wrote the last answer on Professor Fleming's final. The exam was one of the toughest he'd ever taken, making him grateful that he had studied so hard since spring break.

As always when he thought about spring break, he had a flash of the moment with Sarah on the beach. It still hurt in a bittersweet way, as if he had missed out on something amazing. But he was trying not to dwell on it. Even though he had spent the remainder of his spring break watching Spanish movies on pay-per-view in the hotel room, once he got back to Stanford he had worked hard to not fall into a depression over a girl he had known for one night. Even if she had been the most interesting, beautiful woman he had ever met.

Chuck stood and carried his exam paper up to the front of the lecture hall. He smiled at the proctor as he handed in the paper. She glanced at it, then held up a finger. "One minute," she whispered, then dug through the papers in front of her. She drew out a folded piece of paper and passed it to him.

He looked at the paper curiously as he turned away and started walking out of the classroom. The note was short and sweet: _Chuck__: __Please __see __me __in __my __office __when __you __finish __your __final__. __Professor __George __Fleming_

Professor Fleming wanted to see him? Chuck felt a spike of worry and nervousness, and he picked up his pace on the way to the professor's office. When he arrived, he was immediately ushered in, seeing the professor standing by the window.

He turned and smiled at him. "Chuck, have a seat." Professor Fleming gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

"Um, sure," Chuck said, sitting down. "I don't know how you did it, but the final was even tougher than the midterm, Professor. Is that something special you learn in professor school?" He tried for a grin.

The professor chuckled and took his seat. "No, just something I've picked up over the years." He leaned back in his chair, gazing at Chuck.

Chuck felt his stomach twist. He had known he was on thin ice in Professor Fleming's class ever since the midterm, when the professor had said that his results were so much higher than everyone else's that he must have cheated. He had never been accused of cheating in his whole life, and although the professor had believed him once Chuck had taken a second midterm, he couldn't help worrying that something was very, very wrong. Like _Phantom __Menace_ wrong.

"Chuck," Professor Fleming said, "what I'm about to tell you may sound like something out of a movie. But it's very real." He paused and looked at Chuck, who felt utterly confused.

"This-this isn't about the final?" he asked blankly. "I don't know how it could be, since I just turned it in and you haven't even seen it, let alone graded it, but I can guarantee you, Professor, it's all my own work-I've been studying really hard ever since spring break to be ready for this final, because-"

The professor held up a hand and interrupted him. "Chuck, you're right. This isn't about the final. This is about something much bigger." He leaned forward in his chair. "Have you ever thought about serving your country, Chuck?"

Chuck licked his lips nervously. "What, you mean like the Peace Corps? I have to say, Professor, the answer is no. I . . . I like electricity and the Internet and hot water too much, and I think to go overseas you have to get a lot of shots and see, I have this thing about needles-"

"Chuck!" Professor Fleming sounded exasperated. He took a deep breath, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "No. Not the Peace Corps. I'm talking about the CIA."

What?

Shaking his head, Chuck looked at Professor Fleming in disbelief. "I'm sorry, but did you just say the CIA?"

"Chuck, you have been identified as a candidate for a special project, run by the CIA and the NSA. This project is critical to the safety of this country, and you are one of our top choices. If you become a CIA agent, you could help save the lives of millions of people." His professor gazed at him for a moment, then spoke again. "Think of the people you care about. You could protect them in a way far greater than working for a software company. We're asking you to be a hero, Chuck. So what do you say?"

A million thoughts were going through his head. A hero? Chuck Bartowski, a hero? There was no way. He got faint at the sight of blood and mostly returned his library books on time and-he wasn't cut out for something like this! Bryce, now Bryce would be a great hero. He was dashing and smart and liked running.

He was opening his mouth to turn down the professor when he thought of Ellie. Ellie, who was studying to be a doctor. She wasn't doing it because she wanted to be rich-with her student loans, it'd be a long time before she made that kind of money. No, she wanted to be a doctor because she wanted to take care of people. Save their lives, let them have more time with their friends and family and do everything they wanted to do. Helping people was all she had wanted to do since middle school. She was smarter and better than he was, because she wasn't looking to make a ton of money and then sit around spending that money.

Suddenly, he felt ashamed of his choices. Did the world really need another semi-retired software exec, throwing parties and yachting? Chuck was pretty sure it didn't. But what the world did need was people who'd put others first. People who could be heroes. In his mind's eye, he could see the people he knew: Ellie, Morgan, Devon, Bryce and his frat brothers, the guys from his summer job at the Buy More, Jill, that guy with the weird mole in his object-oriented programming class freshman year, even the mysterious Sarah. All those people and more, and he could help them.

He, Chuck Bartowski, could keep people safe.

Chuck felt his heart racing, and he whispered to himself, "Don't freak out."

"Chuck?" the professor asked.

He took a deep breath. "Can you tell me more, Professor?"

XXX

Of all the places to be considered as hell on earth, Chuck hadn't ever considered Virginia. After all, it was the birthplace of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Aimee Mann. It had Virginia ham and the wild ponies of Chincoteague and a bunch of Civil War battlefields.

It was also hot, humid and full of mosquitoes. Chuck knew these three facts from first-hand experience. Not used to any of these conditions, he couldn't adjust and felt like he was in perpetual torment.

Having to run in this weather didn't help matters, either.

He panted and wiped some of the sweat out of his eyes with his forearm as he ran with the other recruits on their daily ten-mile run. It had been a month since he had arrived at the Farm, the name given to the CIA's training facility at Camp Peary. While he was finally beginning to grow accustomed to all the running, he was never going to like it.

Chuck shook his head, trying to keep his breathing under control. Without air, everything was impossible, as his instructors kept reminding him sarcastically.

Bryce had warned him what this would be like. Chuck had thought he was exaggerating at the time, but now he knew his friend had actually been downplaying things.

It was a toss-up who was more upset about Chuck's sudden decision to go to work for the government instead of taking a job at Roark Industries: Ellie, because he'd be moving to the East Coast, or Bryce, because he was joining the CIA. Bryce, who was already a CIA agent!

He had gotten a good laugh out of how right he had been, in that conversation with Fleming, when he had thought that Bryce could be a hero. When he told Bryce about that, his friend hadn't seemed amused.

"I didn't want this for you, Chuck. Working on this project, it's going to change you. In ways that aren't all good." Bryce had pinned him with those penetrating eyes of his. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, Bryce, I am," Chuck had said. "I'll admit, I'm really scared about what may happen. But . . . but if I could help people, really help them, then it's selfish of me to not do this." He had paused and looked at him. "Why did you join the CIA?"

Bryce hadn't answered for a moment, and when he did, his voice was low and sad. "To make a difference."

After that conversation, things were strained between the two of them. He knew part of it was because Bryce didn't want him to do this, but there seemed like something else was going on, too. He hadn't gotten a chance to get it out of Bryce before his friend had left Stanford immediately after their graduation ceremony.

And now, here was Chuck Bartowski, the lanky, non-athletic and perpetually uncoordinated Bartowski, managing to keep up on a ten-mile run. Between the runs, the weight-lifting, and the martial arts training, he barely recognized himself in the mirror. Sure, he more often than not ended up on his ass during sparring, but he felt like he was at least getting into good enough shape to run away if a fight got too bad. And the spars had never gotten so bad that he had to break out the Morgan.

It had been the physical training that most worried him before he arrived in Virginia. He had barely thought about what else he'd be learning. In his mind, it had been a blur of James Bond plot elements: car chases and gadgets and devious, beautiful women. And that was part of it, definitely. Even the devious women. But what the instructors were really teaching was more basic. About emotions and trust and paranoia. Because it seemed that a spy couldn't be too paranoid.

Chuck didn't know how he felt about that. It seemed so alien to him: changing his personality, learning to hold things back. He'd always been a guy to wear his heart on his sleeve. And while there had been a lot of times that he wished he had been different, that he could keep some things to himself and not get hurt so easily, it still seemed wrong to change himself so much. Not over something that didn't hurt other people or broke laws or anything.

But maybe . . . maybe he should change. He grimaced as the dark thoughts, all the regrets and what-ifs, emerged from their hiding places. Maybe if he listened to his instructors and did what they said, he'd stop being the person who got hurt so much. Perhaps if he was different-more smooth, more confident, more reserved-Sarah wouldn't have run like a scared chicken after he kissed her. Bryce wouldn't have gone cold and distant, changing overnight from friend to stranger. His parents wouldn't have left him. Wouldn't have abandoned him, leaving without a word, making Ellie become both mother and sister to him.

The PT instructor yelled for the recruits to run faster, giving Chuck a welcome reprieve from his thoughts. He sucked in air and did his best to keep up with everyone, and his mind went blank as he focused on moving his feet and pumping his arms.

XXX

Chuck shifted nervously in his seat on the C-130J Super Hercules, surrounded by a sea of blue uniforms. This morning, a cross-section of the recruits currently at the Farm had been issued Air Force uniforms, with ranks of either first or second lieutenants. Then, they had been bused to nearby Langley Air Force Base for a six-hour flight to the Project Omaha base.

He played with the flight cap he had been given as part of the uniform. Now that he knew he was moving on to the next phase in his training, everything had become much more real. Three and a half months of basic spy training at the Farm should have done that, he thought. But from what he could tell, they had all gotten the standard training that any CIA recruit would have received. There had been no mention of Project Omaha, no explanation of what was waiting for them when they left the Farm. Nothing until he'd gotten a message last night, saying that he was now assigned to Project Omaha and to be prepared for transportation the next morning.

This all seemed so absurd. To be dressed as an Air Force officer, trying to remember to salute and put his cap on the right way when he got off the plane . . .

Closing his eyes, Chuck took a breath, working to not freak out. A lot of the other recruits had eyed him curiously during their training, commenting that he seemed more like an analyst than a field agent. Some of the most vocal doubters were on this plane, and he didn't want to give them any more ammunition than they already had. They'd probably keep questioning why he was part of Project Omaha. Part of him wondered the same thing.

Most of him, actually. His old insecurities kept flaring up, reminding him that he was no James Bond, no Jason Bourne. He was just Chuck, the guy who was everyone's friend, who liked fixing computers and playing video games and reading comic books. What was the CIA thinking, picking him to be a spy? Especially with what the CIA thought a spy should be.

So many of the other candidates seemed like perfect spies. Chuck, though . . . he knew he wasn't there yet. He could understand the idea that a spy had to be independent, able to stand on his own two feet. But Chuck couldn't understand how that meant he couldn't trust anyone. That there was no one who was above suspicion. It didn't seem logical, and it was so utterly foreign to him that after a while, he had started acting like he agreed with his instructors, just to stop feeling like the class idiot. He'd never had such a hard time grasping anything, and if he couldn't get it . . .

With a sigh, Chuck turned to look out the window. He might not act like a spy, but he could be a spy. At least, he was pretty sure. The therapist he had gone to during his sophomore year had told him to think of his good qualities when his self-esteem got low. So he went over in his mind how his spy training had gone.

Most of what he had learned, he had picked up easily enough. Thanks to his hacking skills and general nerdiness, the computer classes had been easy. He discovered that he liked learning about tactics and strategies, how to outwit an enemy and evade getting captured. It reminded him of playing Risk with Morgan. While no one would mistake him for a Mr. Universe, he'd definitely added on some muscle and could defend himself well enough. He wasn't so great with languages, and he'd never be a master of disguise until the CIA could figure out how to make a six-foot four man appear shorter, but all in all, he had done okay.

So maybe he could do this. He had survived basic training, something that six of the recruits for Project Omaha hadn't been able to do, so he heard. As the plane touched down at what looked like an old Air Force base, Chuck took another deep breath.

His curiosity about what Project Omaha was would finally be satisfied. Maybe then he could figure out why the CIA had wanted him for this project. What made him so important to them, when he couldn't figure it out himself.

Following the other recruits, Chuck walked off the plane, cramming the flight cap onto his head once he hit the tarmac. It took all he had not to keep fiddling with it, since it always felt like it was about to slide off his now-shorter hair. He was still getting used to the haircut, at how different he looked with the curls nearly eliminated. His face now looked narrower, and he did have to admit he felt more like a spy now.

Their destination was a classroom, with long tables and chairs arranged in rows. Chuck was surprised to realize that when he stepped into the room, he had scanned it for the location of all the windows and doors. "Situational awareness," the instructors at the Farm had called it. They had said that the candidates would learn to do it automatically, something Chuck had doubted. It had seemed too paranoid an action to ever feel natural to him. But he had just done it.

"Huh," Chuck said softly, under his breath. That was surprising. And worrying.

He chewed on his lower lip a little as he took a seat, removing the flight cap and setting it on the table. At the front of the room, on a slightly elevated platform, was a collection of chairs. He guessed there would be a lot of people here today, and soon after the recruits were seated, a group of people filed in and took their seats on the stage. A tall, imposing-looking African-American man stepped up to the small lectern at the front of the stage.

"Good afternoon. I am Director Langston Graham, and on behalf of myself and my colleagues at the CIA and NSA, welcome to Project Omaha."

Chuck felt his palms go sweaty. He rubbed them against the sides of his trousers, hoping he wasn't too obvious.

"You represent the future of America's intelligence community. It's a great responsibility that you will be entrusted with, but you wouldn't be here if we didn't know you could handle the challenges you will face." Graham's face was serious. "We are on the verge of a remarkable discovery here, and you are the final piece of the puzzle."

The recruit next to Chuck, a woman he had seen at the Farm but whose name escaped him, whispered under her breath, "No pressure, though."

Chuck couldn't help sending her a small grin before turning back to listen to Director Graham.

He was introducing the various VIPs on the stage. Chuck noticed a tiny woman that was a general and felt his eyes widen a little, before he did his best to school his expression into one of respect.

"At this time," Graham said, "I'd like to introduce Director Jane Bentley, who will be running the show here."

Graham stepped back, allowing Director Bentley to take his place at the lectern. "Good afternoon, recruits," she said, her voice silky and commanding. "Beginning tomorrow, you will undergo advanced training in martial arts, undercover operations, and covert activities. You will also receive enhanced testing of your abilities to interpret visually-encoded data. Your training will be more individualized than it was at Camp Peary, to foster your overall improvement. If you don't have stock in Tylenol or Advil, now would be a good time to invest, since you're all going to be major consumers of those products."

A line like that would have drawn chuckles from most groups, but all the recruits were silent. Chuck didn't know whether that meant everyone else didn't have a sense of humor, or if like him they were all getting really scared.

"You'll be meeting some of the scientists involved in Project Omaha later on. We have the CIA and NSA's best agents to train you in spycraft and self-defense," Bentley said, nodding towards an agent stationed by a door. The agent opened the door and gestured, and a line of agents walked into the room, taking up positions along the side wall.

Director Bentley began identifying each agent and what they would be teaching, but Chuck didn't hear any of the introductions. Instead, all his attention was riveted on the last agent to walk into the room. She was beautiful: blonde with icy blue eyes, an athletic frame and a poker face.

It was Sarah.

End, Chapter 4

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: Thanks to **Lipton ****Lee** for her suggestion about how Chuck spent the rest of his spring break after meeting Sarah.

Have a little of what happens in the next chapter of **Discovering ****Omaha**!

_Thanks __to __her __training__, __she __knew __how __to __keep __her __face __neutral__. __To __hold __herself __still__. __To __not __reveal __what __she __was __feeling__. __And __she __used __all __the __tricks __she __knew __so __she __wouldn__'__t __blush __and __stare __at __Chuck__. __But __she __found __herself __wanting __to __look __at __him__, __to __figure __out __what __he __was __thinking__. __All __she __could __manage __was __a __few __glimpses __out __of __the __corner __of __her __eye__, __and __she __quickly __filed __away __her __impressions__._

_He __looked __good __in __the __Air __Force __uniform__, __but __it __was __strange __to __see __him __all __buttoned __up __instead __of __in __casual __clothes__. __His __hair __looked __different__. __And __he __wouldn__'__t __stop __looking __at __her__. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 5/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: First off, this story has hit 50 reviews, and I'm so grateful for everyone who's taken the time to leave feedback! Thank you so much for reading. This was a tricky chapter for me to write, since it was all about balancing different aspects of Sarah. Add in some Chuck interaction and it's even more tricky. With all that being said, though, I really like this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, too!

XXX

Eyes front, Walker.

Those three little words had become a mantra for her by the time she walked into the classroom to be introduced as a Project Omaha instructor. Through the weeks of preparation for her role in Project Omaha. Through the hours spent at the shooting range and in the gym. Through packing in DC, flying to the decommissioned McClellan Air Force Base outside of Sacramento, and waiting to meet the Omaha recruits, she kept saying those three words to herself.

She would be seeing Chuck for the first time in nearly five months, but she couldn't let herself get lost in the stew of emotion that threatened to overtake her at any moment. If she dropped her guard, she became lost in her distracting feelings. Guilt and embarrassment and worry, mixing with self-doubt and fear and more . . . she didn't know how to handle all of this.

The past was behind her, and she would keep it there by never looking back, never letting herself lose focus. She had thrown herself into her preparation, taking refreshers in various martial arts, honing her proficiency with her throwing knives and her gun, and studying all she could about Project Omaha itself.

Even Graham had noticed how hard she was driving herself, and cautioned her to get some rest before flying to McClellan. She had nodded and reassured him that she would be refreshed and ready by the time she arrived in California.

But when she walked into the classroom and felt Chuck Bartowski's eyes on her, she realized that she wasn't ready at all.

Eyes front, eyes front!

Thanks to her training, she knew how to keep her face neutral. To hold herself still. To not reveal what she was feeling. And she used all the tricks she knew so she wouldn't blush and stare at Chuck. But she found herself wanting to look at him, to figure out what he was thinking. All she could manage was a few glimpses out of the corner of her eye, and she quickly filed away her impressions.

He looked good in the Air Force uniform, but it was strange to see him all buttoned up instead of in casual clothes. His hair looked different. And he wouldn't stop looking at her.

After a moment of flat-out staring, he had realized what he was doing, she guessed. After that, he turned away, but he kept glancing over at her. Some of the glances were long and almost lingering, like he was searching her face for something.

What did he see when he looked at her? Had he thought the loud coed in the bar was just a cover for the quiet girl underneath? And now that he realized that neither of those women really existed, what was he thinking?

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to focus on Director Bentley. Graham was lukewarm on her, but he had admitted she was the best choice for the job. "Perhaps you'll find she's a mentor, Sarah," he had commented.

She wasn't so sure about that. But she was determined to do what was best for her career, to learn what she could during this assignment and be successful so she could move into deep cover operations. She would be someone else, travel the world, and never, ever think about her past. Right now, that sounded perfect to Sarah.

Director Bentley's words pulled her out of her thoughts. "Recruits, the rest of the day is yours. Your belongings have been taken to your quarters. Your room assignments, along with your study materials and schedules, are available at the back of the room. I advise you all to get some rest and become accustomed to your surroundings. Dismissed."

Sarah stepped aside as the recruits stood up and began moving towards the back of the room to get their materials. Chuck caught her eyes for a moment, and she felt her stomach clench with nerves. But he quickly ducked his head and joined the others.

Straightening her shoulders, Sarah moved towards the instructors, turning her back on the recruits. She needed time before she could face Chuck Bartowski.

XXX

Her father used to say he didn't believe in fate or luck or destiny. He believed in himself, he said. In his ability to think on his feet, to turn any situation his way. And if he wasn't able to think fast enough, he'd take the consequences. If his favorite phrase was "a good con man can leave whenever he wants," his next favorite was "don't blame the universe, blame yourself."

It was one of the few things on which Sarah agreed with her dad, and something that she was grateful he had instilled in her. It was a quality that had served her well since she joined the CIA, something that had gotten her respect from her superiors.

But looking at her schedule, she was ready to throw that belief out the window and accept that some higher power hated her. Her first class as an instructor, on her first day, was advanced martial arts for recruits who had been rated as average at the Farm.

Chuck Bartowski was on the class list.

Sarah slumped back in the desk chair in her tiny office. She was already nervous about being an instructor, and now she had to teach twenty recruits while acting completely professional towards the recruit she had kissed.

If there wasn't some higher power at work here, one that didn't like her very much, Sarah didn't know who else to blame for this turn of events.

She sat up and rolled her shoulders. The first class was the best time to evaluate each of her students and see whether they needed to be in this class. And she couldn't do that adequately if she was distracted.

Perhaps she'd get lucky and find that Chuck had been put into her class by mistake. Given the gangliness she'd seen from him in Mexico, she was surprised that he'd managed to be rated as average.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she focused on her lesson plans. There were high expectations for the recruits, and she wanted them to meet those standards. Not just for their own sakes, but to demonstrate that she could apply her own knowledge and teach others.

She wouldn't have much time to improve their skills, though. In two months, it was expected that one of the recruits would be selected for the still-classified experiment that was at the center of Project Omaha. It would help her career if she was seen as partly responsible for the success of whatever recruit was picked.

Two months of teaching, and she would either move on to an undercover assignment that would be full of action, or she would be in Iceland. Sarah frowned at that wisp of self-doubt. It wasn't worth thinking about. She would succeed, she would begin deep cover, and she'd have everything she wanted.

Warmth spilling over her hand made her eyes jerk down, to realize that she had crushed her coffee cup and now had a puddle of coffee on her desk. Cursing, she quickly wiped up the mess, thankful that no liquid had gotten on her paperwork. Once her desk was clean, Sarah sighed and got up. She needed to warm up before the class, and perhaps sparring against one of the practice dummies for a few minutes would let her collect her thoughts and be ready.

Pausing to wash her hands in the nearest restroom, Sarah made her way to the martial arts classroom her class had been assigned. Just walking inside made the knot in her shoulders loosen slightly. In this room, she felt in control.

Sarah went through her warm-up routine, making sure her muscles were stretched and limber. She watched her form in the mirrors, feeling satisfied that her extra practice was paying off. Moving over to the dummy set up at the front of the room, she performed a few different combinations. As she turned around in a circle to deliver an elbow jab, she noticed that the room had filled up. She let loose with a ferocious and lethal head kick, one that made the dummy rock on its stand. Then she turned to face the students, confidence filling her as she set her hands on her hips.

"Good morning," she said, scanning the room. Chuck was towards the back of the group, his shoulders slightly hunched. "I'm Agent Walker, in case you've forgotten from yesterday, and I'm here to improve your skills in martial arts and defense. We'll start by each of you working with a dummy while I observe your technique. Everyone's warmed up already?" At the recruits' nods, she gestured towards the dummies. "Then pick your partner. Let me see what you can do."

That had gone okay, she thought to herself as the recruits started their drills. Firm, direct, no nonsense. She noticed that Chuck had taken a dummy off towards the front corner of the room, so she purposely started in the opposite corner, giving herself time before she had to watch him.

It took her fifteen minutes to reach him, after spending a few moments with each student to assess their form and offer some pointers. She stood to the side and watched him.

In his sweat pants and t-shirt, it was much clearer what his time at the Farm had done. His shoulders seemed broader, his arms clearly defined with muscle. His hair was also shorter than it had been in Mexico: not quite a buzz cut, but still shorter and neater, making him look older. He . . . he looked really good.

Sarah made herself focus on his technique and not his body and quickly spotted a problem. "Stop pulling your punches."

Chuck paused and faced her, wiping the sweat away from his face with his forearm. "I didn't know I was." He seemed to be trying to keep his face expressionless. But Sarah could see the cracks in his facade: the tension in his jaw, the confusion and hurt in his eyes.

She did her best to keep her voice professional. "You are, because you're not getting the acceleration at the end of your strike that you could be. Go all out-the dummy can take it."

He nodded slowly, then turned back towards the dummy. He hit it with a right-left combination, giving his punches a bit more power but still not what he should be capable of doing.

It would have to be something they worked on later. "Better," she said, moving on to the next student.

After making the rounds, Sarah told the students to pair up and begin sparring. She spent the rest of the class watching them, getting them to switch partners in order to observe different dynamics. She saw again that Chuck pulled his blows, especially when sparring with a female recruit. He would throw punches, but anyone with a trained eye would see that they'd never land, even if they weren't deflected. His moves were almost always defensive, waiting out his opponent until they got clumsy or frustrated. He truly didn't want to hit anyone. And through it all, he acted like he wasn't noticing her at all.

He was such a mystery to her. After his reaction yesterday, she had expected . . . something. Not this quiet, focused man. It didn't match with the Chuck she had met on spring break, who had eyes that sparkled and a smile that didn't quit. If he had acted yesterday like he had today, she'd understand that. The Farm was all about taking raw recruits and making them into fledgling spies. But his reaction the day before had been so open and unvarnished, just like how he had acted in Mexico. She didn't know what had changed overnight, but she wanted to know.

By the time an hour and a half had passed, all the recruits had sparred with each other, and they were all dripping with sweat. "That's enough, everyone," she said. "You've all got some flaws, but they're fixable with hard work. We'll continue working in class, and you'll each sign up for a one-on-one session with me. Use the scheduling software on any of the computers to find a time that works for you. Any questions?"

The recruits shook their heads, most of them looking wrung out. She gave them what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Good work today. Get signed up for those one-on-ones. Dismissed."

Most of the recruits filed out, but some approached her, asking questions. She noticed Chuck hanging back, watching her. She felt nerves fluttering inside her, which she tried to hide as she spoke with the other recruits. But suddenly, Chuck turned and walked out of the room.

For a moment, she stared at the spot he had been standing in, wondering why he had left when he clearly was waiting to talk to her. Had he given up that easily? That didn't seem like the man she had met in Mexico, the funny enthusiastic Chuck who lit up when she smiled at him.

"Agent Walker?"

She looked at the student she had been talking to, a young man who was a bit thick around the middle and talked with a faint accent. "You stopped right in the middle there," he said. "You were explaining the difference between muay thai and wushu?"

She swallowed. "Yes, of course." She picked up her explanation, but a larger corner of her mind was still wondering over Chuck's behavior.

XXX

Sarah had never known a week could move so slowly. Chuck had signed up for a one-on-one with her on Saturday afternoon, and she found herself thinking about him often during the week. He was in her class three mornings a week, but he never volunteered to participate and stayed quiet when she corrected his form. She had been surprised, pleasantly, to see evidence that he wasn't bad at martial arts. He still wasn't graceful, but he had good power, not to mention insanely long arms and legs that gave him an enviable reach.

Outside of her class, she observed him as much as she could. He was just so different from before. He seemed friendly enough with his fellow recruits, but he was definitely more reserved than she had expected.

His file from basic hadn't indicated that he was withdrawn or solitary. In fact, he had been considered one of the more social recruits, and identified other flaws like his reluctance to use force and his inability to speak other languages. Yet at Project Omaha, Chuck was improving by leaps and bounds in the eyes of the CIA. She had heard from other instructors that Chuck was typically the most focused, intelligent recruit in their classes. Only in her class was he not making similar progress.

It could only be because of her. She must be holding him back. That thought set off a swirl of different emotions in her, but she did her best to squash them down. He would be arriving for his session any moment, and she needed to focus.

Sarah went to the center of the room and took a few deep breaths, trying to find some calmness within her. She closed her eyes and began some simple tai chi moves. Although she'd never done as much meditation as her instructors had urged her to do, she knew what could settle her nerves when it was needed. She found herself growing less overwhelmed as she breathed and moved. Perhaps they could talk about what had happened, and it would be simple and easy. Then she could help him, so he could continue his improvement.

The sound of the classroom door opening brought Sarah out of her trance. She saw Chuck walk in thanks to the wall of mirrors. Her eyes caught his, and suddenly she realized that they were alone for the first time since the beach. They had kissed, and she had run away from him with no explanation. And now here she was, his instructor.

Was it any wonder he wasn't improving in her class?

Sarah swallowed. If she wanted him to do better, to live up to the potential she had seen in him, then . . . then she had to explain what happened in Mexico. Even though she still didn't understand why she had acted the way she had.

She straightened up and turned to face him. "Hi, Chuck."

He hadn't moved more than two feet from the door. His arms were folded over his chest, and his face was carefully schooled into a blank expression, although his eyes gave him away. There was some frustration there, but dominant was confusion and uncertainty. His whole body screamed that he didn't want to be there, and she guessed that his mind was moving at a million miles a minute to find a way to deal with this.

He nodded to her. "Agent Walker."

His attempt to put distance between them made her lower her eyes, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. She returned her eyes to his and took a few steps towards him. "In here, when it's just us, you could call me Sarah."

For a moment, it was like he relaxed. Like he stopped trying to act like someone he wasn't, and he was Chuck again. But it only lasted for the blink of an eye, and then he was back to this strange, closed-off man. "That doesn't seem very professional," he said, his voice low.

"I . . . we didn't really meet under professional conditions," she said, fumbling a bit over her words.

"They weren't professional on my end," he said. "For you, though . . . I talked to a few other people, and it seems that all of them had a run-in with a CIA agent before they got picked for this project."

Of course he had figured that out. His test scores and his performance in covert operations indicated he had a natural gift for uncovering intelligence.

"That's true," Sarah said, ready to tell him about the interview process, hoping he'd understand that she was just doing her job. Except for the kiss, of course, but . . . but she was pretty sure she could find a way to explain that, eventually. But instead of letting her explain, Chuck held up a hand.

"Look, can we just . . . can we just forget what happened in Mexico? You were there to do a job, and I-I thought it was something else. But now you're my instructor, and we should be professionals about all this."

Oh.

Why hadn't she thought of that? That was exactly the kind of thing she would have said normally, if she had found herself having to work with someone in this kind of situation. Keep it professional and impersonal and move on without any feelings.

That had always been her way. What had happened to her to make her forget that? What made her want to tell him the truth, or at least try and make him feel better about what had happened between them?

She shook her head. She couldn't stand there like a statue while he watched her, waiting to hear how she'd respond. His suggestion was good. It could work. Even if she didn't understand why he decided to make this offer, even if he had changed from the man she thought he was and the man she had liked, she wasn't going to turn him down.

Sarah gave him a small smile and held her hand out to him. "Hi, Agent Bartowski."

He searched her face, then uncrossed his arms and walked over to her. His body was more relaxed, less guarded. There was a hesitant smile on his face, not the big, beaming one that she remembered from Mexico, but . . . but there was some warmth there. It felt good.

Chuck took her hand and shook it. "Hi, Agent Walker." His hand was a bit clammy, but his handshake was firm.

Sarah looked up at him, at this agent who had so much potential, at this man who had made her completely forget herself. Suddenly, without thinking about it, she yanked hard on his hand. He flipped over her shoulder, landing on his back on the mat.

He stared up at her, his eyes huge. She stared back for a moment and then looked away in embarrassment, biting her lower lip. Her instructors used to say she went with her instincts too often and it was a flaw that she had to correct. What in the hell had she been thinking, throwing him like that? There was no trust between them, and she had just taken advantage of his willingness to forget Mexico with that stupid move! How could she help him improve if he couldn't trust her? And now he never-

Her mental whirlwind was interrupted by an unexpected sound. Laughter. Chuck was laughing. A head thrown back, eyes closed, full-on belly laugh.

He had a great laugh. And she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Okay, I wasn't expecting that." He grinned up at her, a last chuckle escaping from him.

She grinned back, a wave of relief washing over her. "Me, neither."

"Not very professional," he said, looking up at her.

"No . . ." she admitted. "But being professional hasn't helped you get better in my class. So we need to try something else."

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking up at her thoughtfully. "Yeah."

She crouched down next to him. She took a deep breath. "I'd like to help you get better. Because . . . you have a lot of potential."

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes full of surprise and pleasure at her compliment, and she felt her whole body grow warm. He nodded, his face set with determination. "I'd like that, too."

She folded her arms and rested them on her knees. "Good." She looked at him. "Friends?"

His eyes were unreadable to her, but he nodded and gave her a half-smile. "Friends."

This was more like it. Not that her preferences mattered. But she was glad to see more signs that the Chuck she remembered was in there, that he hadn't been completely buried under his spy training. Because she thought his natural qualities, combined with his new knowledge . . . it would make him a prime candidate for the Project Omaha experiment. Whatever the experiment was.

Sarah took a breath, enjoying this sense of peace that had fallen over her. "So, how about we spar a little and see how that works?"

"Sounds good to me," Chuck said, rising to his feet. "You know what this means, though." He started circling her.

She mirrored his motions, feeling a small smile on her face. She wasn't used to smiling this much, let alone while sparring. "What, Agent Bartowski?"

"First off, it's Chuck," he said easily. "Second, I don't hit women," he said. "Just so you know. But I'm still gonna do my best to beat you."

"You think you can beat me without hitting me?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"We'll have to see then. I like my chances, though," he said, hopping from one foot to the other. "Longer reach, for example. And more stamina."

"True. And good recognition of your natural advantages." He gave her a small grin. "But," she said, "I'm faster than you. And, unlike you, I'm willing to hit you." Sarah smirked and aimed a punch at his head, putting only a fraction of her power behind it.

He blocked her punch easily. "Someone's not trying."

She shrugged at him, doing her best not to laugh out loud. This was fun. She'd never laughed with someone during sparring. Never seen it as a way to enjoy herself, beyond proving she could take down an opponent. She narrowed her eyes as she circled him. She'd have to work with him to get over his distaste for hitting a woman, and his tendency to pull his punches whenever he fought. But for now . . . she was going to have fun.

She grinned at him and he grinned back. And with that, they started to spar.

End, Chapter 5

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: I'm not into martial arts or anything like that, so hopefully I don't have Sarah doing anything completely unreasonable/impossible. You may have noticed the chapters are getting longer, so each new chapter might be coming a bit slower from here on out. But I know where I'm going with this story, and although I might make the path a bit longer as I go, I have the ending all figured out in my head.

Sneak peek:

_He __was __part __of __a __secret __government __project __run __by __two __of __the __most __secretive __organizations __on __the __planet__. __He __was __actually __discovering __that __he __had __the __instincts __and __intelligence __to __be __a __pretty __good __spy__, __for __the __most __part__. __And __he __was __falling __for __one __of __his __instructors__, __who __happened __to __be __beautiful__, __smart__, __incredibly __talented __and __a __spy __to __boot__._

_Oh__, __yeah__, __totally __normal__. __He __was __surprised __there __wasn__'__t __a __TV __show __based __on __his __life__. _

See you next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 6/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: This chapter represents a turning point for the story; from here on out, there's gonna be a lot happening. So buckle your seat belts!

XXX

He was having a dream. There was warm sunshine and margaritas and soft music coming from an iPod stereo dock. He was on a beach, watching the ocean pound in the distance as someone with soft hands was applying sunscreen all over his back.

Hands that felt familiar. Hands that he had held, hands that had been balled into fists and aimed at his face.

With a soft groan, Chuck woke up. It was Sunday, his one day off. It was an hour before his alarm was scheduled to go off. And he had been dreaming about Sarah.

He pulled his pillow over his head. He had a full day ahead of him: breakfast, some weight lifting, shower. An hour of extra studying, trying to stay caught up with everything he was learning. His weekly call to Ellie, some time online to talk with Morgan and send another email to Bryce. Then, at two, sparring with Sarah. Agent Walker. His instructor.

It was only his desire not to wake up his roommate, who was very grumpy in the mornings, that kept him from groaning again. Because his life was so ridiculous right now.

He was part of a secret government project run by two of the most secretive organizations on the planet. He was actually discovering that he had the instincts and intelligence to be a pretty good spy, for the most part. And he was falling for one of his instructors, who happened to be beautiful, smart, incredibly talented and a spy to boot.

Oh, yeah, totally normal. He was surprised there wasn't a TV show based on his life.

Chuck pushed the pillow away and sat up, rubbing a hand over his hair. If he was awake, he might as well get his day started. He could fit in a run before breakfast this way.

Quietly, he got dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Shoving his feet into his sneakers, he picked up his room key and his ID and slid them in his pocket. Within a few moments, he had left the barracks and was at the track.

He breathed deeply, the cool air helping to wake him up. For October, the sun was already warm, and there was almost no humidity. This was what he had missed in Virginia. He had found that running wasn't so bad in California.

The track was deserted; for the most part, everyone took advantage of the chance to sleep in on Sundays. He took a few moments to stretch, then started jogging around the track, enjoying the chance to go slow and let his mind drift.

For the last six weeks, he had been working his ass off. It was like his four years at Stanford had been distilled and concentrated into six weeks of intense work and extreme stress. He hadn't known he was capable of working this hard, but he was. He had put all of himself into his training, and . . . and he was succeeding.

Chuck wasn't an arrogant guy. He knew that there were people who were better than him at computers, at being a spy, anything. But somehow, he had moved to the top of the class.

He grinned and shook his head. Chuck Bartowski, real spy. Who'd have thunk it?

Feeling warmed up, he accelerated into an easy run. Pumping his arms, he felt a rush at knowing what he could do. He could run and jump and leap, climb a chain-link fence and not kill himself getting down. He could defend himself, hide when he needed to, and get past someone without giving them a clue to his movements.

His first week at Project Omaha had been hell. He'd been lost, confused, unsure of himself. He had thrown himself into his studies in order to distract himself from Sarah. The beautiful, intriguing woman he had met in Mexico was a CIA agent. He had thought she liked him, but she had only talked to him in order to learn more about him for the CIA.

To say he felt crushed was putting it mildly. He'd felt more alive with her than with anyone else, the connection between them forming almost instantly. Not even Jill had been so easy to talk to, so easy to like. And when he had kissed Sarah, he had felt a spark that made the whole world seem brighter.

Finding out that it was all a mission had made him feel embarrassed. He could barely stand to look at her, knowing that she had only kissed him for her job. It must have been so degrading for her to kiss some strange, nerdy guy. So while he had improved in his other classes, in Sarah's class he'd barely been able to keep up. It was all he could do to get through her class without turning bright red and babbling out his apologies for how he had acted. She tried to help him, but he just wasn't able to concentrate and improve. Not until their one-on-one session.

That session had changed everything. When she had flipped him onto the mat, he felt as if his heart had gotten a jumpstart. Sarah wasn't the robot she acted like during the classes she taught. She was a real woman, the one she had been in Mexico when they had walked on the beach. He liked her. He wanted to get to know her better. Sure, he wanted even more-she was beautiful and smart and completely amazing. But he was lucky that she had become his friend.

They had coffee together some mornings and ran together occasionally. One Saturday night, when the Omaha compound had emptied out due to almost everyone going into Sacramento for a night of leave, they had eaten in the dining hall together, sharing jokes and talking.

Best of all, they spent time together every Sunday. It wasn't exactly a date, not with the sparring. But in a sports bra and tight workout pants, dripping with sweat, she was even more beautiful. He'd take getting his ass kicked if he got to see that.

She kept nagging at him to stop holding back, to attack her. But he wouldn't do that. He refused to be offensive. His first goal was to avoid a physical conflict; if that failed, he let his opponent tire themselves out until they got sloppy enough for him to get away.

"That works for hand-to-hand," Sarah had said during their session last week. "But when it's guns or knives or another kind of weapon, you can't wait for them to get tired." She had looked at him, her eyes the blue of a summer sky. "You'll have to attack, Chuck."

He hadn't answered her. But he knew that he couldn't do that. He couldn't kill someone. He'd rely on his wits to get away before it came to that. Even if it meant he'd be killed.

Chuck glanced at his watch and realized he had been running for over a half hour. He slowed down, dropping to a walk in order to cool down.

Sarah admitted that he had become extremely proficient at self-defense. That he had the endurance to outlast most opponents he'd face. Added with the improvements to the rest of his skills, Chuck knew he had put to rest the questions raised by the doubters who thought he couldn't cut it in the field. It was almost dizzying, realizing that he was one of the guys that everyone was watching.

After all . . . he was just Chuck. He still sucked at languages and he was still ungainly. While the other recruits usually spent their Sundays sleeping and socializing, he was trying to carve out time for extra studying and talking to his sister. When he got tired of studying, he watched bad sci-fi movies in the common room. For some reason, people let him change the channel on the TV, without mocking him. It was all so new to him, this feeling that he mattered. He tried not to let it go to his head, because . . . because who knew how long this would last?

Whispers had started going around that there was some kind of top-secret project being worked on by the Project Omaha scientists, and that pretty soon a recruit would be picked for this experiment-the best all-around recruit. He had heard some people say he'd be the pick, but he wasn't so sure. If it turned out that someone else got it, he didn't want to suffer the jeers and pity from the other recruits. He wasn't going to become arrogant, like that jerk Nick who made everything into a competition.

No, he wanted to stay himself. Even if that meant he wasn't the best recruit for the secret experiment. Even if Sarah would only ever be his friend, as painful as that was. He'd come this far without losing himself. He'd make it through as Charles Irving Bartowski.

XXX

Chuck tapped his foot, waiting for the guy ahead of him to finish his phone call. He checked his watch, then let out a breath. The recruit finished his call and stepped out of the booth, leaving it for Chuck with a nod. He nodded back, then practically dove into the booth and dialed Ellie's cell phone. It rang four times, and then his sister's clear voice rang out like a bell.

"Chuck!"

He couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm. "Hi, sis."

"How are you doing? How's work?"

Chuck took a deep breath. Lying to Ellie was something he hated to do. He knew the lies kept her safe, not to mention he was legally bound to keep the truth from her thanks to the pages of confidentiality agreements he'd signed at his induction. And . . . and he wasn't sure if she'd like knowing that he was a CIA agent. He thought she wouldn't see it as he saw it: a way to help people, to make the world safe. She'd be too worried about his safety to understand that.

"Work is good," he said, hoping his voice didn't give him away. "It's complicated stuff, but I'm working on some really interesting computers, like these supercomputers that practically think for themselves." Ellie had never been very interested in computers, and if she thought he was going to start babbling about teraflops and I/O architecture, she'd change the subject.

She didn't disappoint him. "That sounds great. Do you like the people you work with?"

He grinned. "Yeah, they're not bad . . . there's nobody that comes close to Morgan or Bryce, but there's a few guys I hang out with a bit."

"Mmm-hmm," Ellie said. "Just guys, though?"

"And that was not at all subtle," he said, laughing.

Ellie laughed, too. "I'm your sister. If I try to be subtle, you don't get it."

"I'm not the only one. Remember when I was trying to find out for Morgan if you liked him, and you had no idea what I was talking about?"

"That's because you were so vague, I thought you were trying to stay out after curfew, Chuck. Not set me up with your best friend." He could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"You sound good, Ellie," he said. "Better than you have been."

Ellie sighed. "Yeah . . . I'm getting there. Devon and I . . . we're taking things slowly."

Chuck nodded, even though Ellie wouldn't see it. At the end of the summer, Ellie and Devon had broken up briefly, apparently due to Devon's unfortunate Abercrombie modeling stint. Although Devon had pretty quickly seen the error of his ways and begged for another chance, Ellie was still hurting from his actions.

He spoke softly. "I'm sorry, El, bringing up . . . well, you know."

"No, no, it's okay," she said. "It-it's good to talk about it. And there's been no signs of Devon the Douchebag. It's hard not to worry about getting hurt, but I'm managing with it."

"Yeah?" Chuck asked, hoping that she wasn't just trying to reassure him.

"I really am." Ellie's voice was determined, and he was reminded of her at fourteen, putting Band-Aids on his scraped knees and telling him that someday, she'd do this for lots of people.

It made him think of the days when he knew he could tell her anything, and she'd give him advice or sympathy or whatever he needed. Maybe now was the right time to talk about something he'd wanted to tell her.

"There . . . there is actually someone . . ."

"There is?" He could imagine Ellie sitting up, her eyes going wide. "Someone you like?"

"Yeah . . ." he said, letting his voice trail off. Ellie had been urging him to start dating again in their weekly phone calls-in fact, she'd been urging him to do that since graduation. She didn't know about the Sarah he had met on spring break, and he wasn't about to tell her the whole story. "She works in the same place I do, but in a totally different department."

"So she's not a nerd?" If anything, Ellie sounded more excited. She had claimed that with all their shared interests, he would eventually run out of things to talk about with Jill. He had disagreed, but now with Sarah . . . maybe Ellie was a little right.

"Thanks, sis," he said.

"You know what I mean. Tell me more about her. What's her name? What's she like?"

He swallowed, letting himself really think about Sarah. "Her name's Sarah. She's . . . she's amazing."

"Awww!" Ellie sighed. "And she likes you, too?"

Chuck shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know. We're friends . . . but we really haven't spent any time together outside of work."

"You should ask her out," Ellie suggested. "Get to know each other better. It's time for you to get back out there."

"Yeah . . . I don't know. I mean, we're really good as friends. That doesn't mean she's interested in anything more," Chuck said, holding on to the phone tighter. Just the thought of asking Sarah out made giant butterflies appear in his stomach.

"No one's allowed to sell my brother short, not even him," Ellie said. "If you don't ask her out, you'll never know. You shouldn't pass up the chance at something great just because you're a bit scared."

"Oh, I think that's a great reason, El," he said, trying to make a joke out of it.

"No, it's not," she said firmly. "You ask her out, Chuck Bartowski, or I won't go ahead and have dinner with Morgan tonight."

Chuck felt his eyes bug out. "You-you and Morgan-you're-?"

"Of course not, Chuck! It's just . . . I miss you. I thought having dinner with Morgan would help. And . . . and he's not so bad," she said.

Considering that Ellie had always barely put up with Morgan, this was a big step. And the fact that she was spending time with Morgan because she missed him . . .

"I miss you, too, Ellie," he said softly. He wished he could stay on the phone longer, but he knew he had to go. "I have to get going, El, but I hope you have a good time, and-and don't miss me, okay? You've got a great life, being a doctor and saving people, and there's all your friends, and hey, Devon's never gonna be a jerk again, and he'll spend the rest of his life making you happy and wanting you to have a million babies with him, and you're gonna be great."

"You're my brother," she said, sounding a little teary. "Of course I miss you. And you've got a great life, too, you know."

Chuck smiled a little. "I know. I'll talk to you next Sunday. I love you."

"I love you, too, Chuck. Oh, and there's no way I'm having a million babies. Three, at the most."

He laughed. "Okay, Ellie. Bye."

Chuck hung up the phone and stepped out of the phone booth. He jogged towards the cafeteria, feeling an extra spring in his step. Maybe Ellie was right. Maybe, once Project Omaha wrapped up, he could ask Sarah out. Do things the right way for once. After all, he was nearly a spy, and if she wasn't his instructor any more, there wouldn't be anything wrong with them dating, would there?

He hoped not. Because now that the idea was in his head . . . he really wanted to have a date with Sarah.

XXX

When he stepped into the classroom, a smile on his face, Chuck noticed three differences from normal. There was a target pinned to the wall, featuring the outline of a human body. There was a selection of wickedly sharp-looking knives on a table set about ten feet in front of the target. And Sarah looked very, very nervous.

"Hi, Chuck," she said, standing in the middle of the room, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Hey," he said, taking another look around. "No sparring today?"

"No, not today. I . . . I thought we'd see how you could handle a weapon." She bit her lower lip for a moment, then smiled weakly. "It's like I said-eventually, you're going to have to learn how to use these things."

"I didn't realize 'eventually' meant this soon," he said, frowning a little. Sarah just shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the table of knives. She picked up one, and just like that, the knife was buried in the center of the target's head.

"Oh my God," Chuck said, feeling a rush of nerves. "That . . . that was awesome, and-really scary. Terrifying, in fact. How did you learn to do that?"

Sarah stared at the target for a moment, then looked at him. "I learned before I was a spy."

He tilted his head as her words sunk in. Sarah didn't talk much about her past. In fact, he wasn't sure she had told him anything about her life before joining the CIA. She had to be rattled in some way to let that detail slip.

As if sensing what she had given away, Sarah became all business. "Give it a try, Chuck." She gestured towards the knives, then walked over to the target to remove the knife she had thrown.

He slowly moved towards the table, noticing how the light glinted off the blades. They looked . . . deadly. All those years of being told to not play with knives, to be careful, and even though the knife trick in _Aliens_ had always looked so cool, he had never wanted to try it himself. But Sarah was standing there, looking at him, waiting for him to pick up one of these dangerous-looking weapons.

"I . . . I don't know about this," he said hesitantly, looking at Sarah.

"Chuck . . . it's like I said last week," she said, her voice soft. "A spy doesn't just use hand-to-hand combat. There's guns and knives and the weapons you make out of everyday objects."

He stared at her. "Everyday objects?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. A fork, a broomstick, a vase-anything that you can use to distract your opponent, to get the upper hand." She looked at him and tried for a smile. "It's part of the job."

He took an involuntary step back, and Sarah's smile, already uncertain, died completely. She took a breath and walked over to him. She lifted up his hand and pressed the knife she had used into his palm. "Just hold it. Don't think about it-listen to me."

It felt so wrong to be holding a knife. To think about using this to hurt someone, to cut them open and see their blood-

Chuck closed his eyes, trying to control his breath.

"A knife is a weapon," she said softly. "A tool. Just like your mind or your body. You have a choice, when faced with a dangerous situation. What tool will I use to solve this problem? Almost all of the time, it'll be your mind. Sometimes, it will be your body. And once in a while . . . you'll use a knife or a gun. It's not always clear which tool is the best one. A weapon is usually the fastest one. The easiest. But it doesn't have to be the one you pick in those situations."

He opened his eyes, gazing down at her and trying to understand what she was saying. Her face was serious, her eyes locked on his face. He swallowed. If she wasn't talking to him about learning to kill someone, this would seem very, very intimate.

Sarah paused, looking lost for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was even softer. "Chuck, if there's no way out . . . it-it's not wrong to use a weapon to defend yourself. Not if you'll save other people. Not if it means the difference between life and death."

"I . . . I don't know about this, Sarah," he repeated, feeling his palms get slick with sweat. "I-I was never one of those boys to pull wings off butterflies or burn a bug with a magnifying glass. I was the kid who got picked on when I was growing up and-and I'm not a bully. And I get faint at the sight of blood and needles make me want to pass out . . ."

She waited for him to slow down before speaking. "This isn't about being a bully. This is just another way to protect yourself. The CIA won't send an agent out in the field who can't protect himself." She sounded like she was getting upset, her words coming faster. "Other people out there, they don't think like you do. They won't hesitate to shoot someone in order to get what they're after. You can't outthink a bullet, Chuck."

He felt his heart racing. All this time, he had thought that he was becoming a spy. That it was about learning how to appear inconspicuous, knowing how to think fast, serving his country and protecting people. But . . . but there was more to it. There was a bigger world, beyond Project Omaha, a world where there was people who would kill him.

The knife slid out of his hand and hit the floor. In a flash, Sarah had picked it up and advanced on him, not letting him look away. "You can do this, Chuck. You can learn how to throw a knife and shoot a gun, and once you can do that, you'll be ready for anything according to the CIA."

Her voice gentled a little. "Someday, that weapon might be all that stands between you and some madman who's going to destroy the world. If you don't know how to throw a knife at him, then it won't matter how smart you are. I know that you don't want to know how, but . . . but you have to know, Chuck. If only so that someday you could save the world."

"Sarah, I don't understand-why are you doing this?" He felt his body shaking, his forehead wet with sweat. Why was she pushing him? She had said from the beginning that he needed to be more offensive, but she hadn't forced him. She had let him stay defensive, showing him how to be more effective. And now, all of a sudden, she wanted him to become Rambo?

"I have to, Chuck-you need to be ready for anything," she said. Even to his ears, her explanation sounded forced.

He shook his head, refusing to accept that. "Then why spring this on me? Why not talk to me first?" He searched her face, trying as always to figure out what she was thinking. "Friends don't scare their friends to death with scary knives!"

"And friends don't let their friends die!" Sarah said, her voice bouncing off the walls of the classroom. "I won't let you die, Chuck. Do you hear me? You need to learn how to do this, so you won't die."

Chuck stared at her in shock. She was panting, red-faced, her hair slipping out of her ponytail. She was beautiful and strong, like some kind of Valkyrie, and she didn't want him to die. He'd never seen such fierceness, such utter protection, directed at him. Not even Ellie had ever been so determined to keep him safe.

Did this mean . . . ?

Sarah turned away from him, putting a few feet between them. The line of her shoulders and back, normally so solid and firm, were shaking. He took a few steps towards her, watching as she tried to control herself. He'd never seen her show this much emotion. He'd never seen her hurting.

Slowly, he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. She took a deep breath, and the trembling started to ease.

"It's okay, Sarah," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I . . . I shouldn't have acted like this." She turned to face him, his hand sliding to rest on her upper arm. She looked calmer, but some emotion was still visible beneath the surface. "I should have talked to you first."

"It's okay," he repeated. "I-I'm just glad you're not mad at me, or ready to kick my ass." He looked at her and found himself saying what was on his mind. "I'm glad that you care about me not dying."

She gave him a weak, lopsided, but beautiful smile. "Of course I care."

Chuck felt his heart beat double-time. He wanted to kiss her. More than that, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight and keep her safe. But it was the wrong time to be thinking that, and she was just his friend.

He moved his hand away from her and shifted his feet. "Yeah . . . yeah, right. Because you're my friend."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Friends. That's all they were. The sooner he realized what a gift it was to be her friend, the better off he'd be. But that might be harder than learning how to throw a knife.

"So . . . so show me how to do this." He gestured towards the table of knives.

"We don't have to do this today," she said. "If you're not sure . . ."

"I'm not sure," he said, looking down at her. "I don't want to know how to do this. I know you can teach me, and I might even be able to hit what I aim for, but knowing how to use a gun or throw knives, it's the last thing I want to learn. But-but you're right. Even if I never shoot someone, I need to know how. Because I have to think about other people, about protecting them. I have to think about more than just myself, and I want to help people and keep them safe, and since I'm not exactly imposing, I . . . I guess I need to know how to use a weapon."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. And he was scared at the thought of using these things. Of becoming the kind of man who could hurt someone, even for a good reason like protecting someone else. But Sarah wanted him to stay alive, and she wanted to help him. Maybe . . . maybe it wouldn't be all bad. Learning to throw a knife didn't mean he had to do it out in the field. As long as he didn't die, the CIA probably wouldn't care how he did his job. And if learning how to use weapons made Sarah less worried about him . . . he'd at least try.

Sarah searched his face for a long moment. He gazed back at her, soaking in her concern. It felt so good to have someone care about him. He knew when it came to Sarah Walker, the signals weren't always so clear. But he was pretty sure she did care about him. It was probably just as a friend. But for now, he had knives to learn how to throw.

She gave him a small smile. "Let's get started." She lead him over towards the table and started teaching him how to throw knives.

End, Chapter 6

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: I hope no one kills me for having Sarah convince Chuck to learn how to use weapons. If you're worried about what's going on, I hope this sample from chapter 7 relieves you a little.

_He was . . . he was special to her. He helped her laugh, made her open up about things she had rarely talked about. He was so talented and focused, yet also empathetic and kind. She'd never seen anyone who could balance such different traits so effortlessly. What was more, he had a life outside of being a spy. He had a sister he was devoted to, a best friend he was always talking about, and he still had his sci fi movies and comic books and indie music. She didn't understand any of those things: having family to care about, enjoying something beyond well-sharpened knives or an air conditioned hotel room. _

_He made it all look so easy. She . . . she was hoping they'd have time for him to show her how he did it. Maybe once Omaha was done, and before she went into deep cover, they might . . . _


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 7/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: When I was writing Chapter 5, I realized I had left out an important plot point that would end up playing out in this chapter and Chapter 8, as well as affecting the rest of the story. That caused this story to become longer by two chapters, but I hope you enjoy the thought of getting more time with these versions of Chuck and Sarah. Happy reading, and thank you for all your feedback!

XXX

The message had been waiting in Sarah's voice mail when she came back from her weekly Sunday session with Chuck.

"_Agent __Walker__, __this __is __Director __Bentley__. __According __to __your __schedule__, __you __have __tomorrow __afternoon __free__. __I__'__d __like __to __have __a __meeting __with __you__, __say __around __two __o__'__clock__. __Thank __you __for __your __time__."_

She had listened to the message three times, trying to determine if there was any hidden meaning to this, or if anything could be inferred from Bentley's voice. Even though it all seemed innocent, she couldn't help worrying.

The grapevine at Project Omaha was just as effective as the ones at the Farm or Langley. Word had gotten around about Chuck's reluctance to use force, and it was seen as a black mark on his record. And she wouldn't let that mark stand. But she knew how resistant he was to hurting anyone.

It had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done, convincing him to learn how to use weapons. She hadn't wanted to do it. She'd felt another stab of guilt, like the one during the candidate selection meeting. Once again, she had held his life in her hands, and she'd made a decision based on what was best for her career. Not pushing him to use force made her look weak.

It had felt like a betrayal of the friendship they had slowly built over the last six weeks. It was so wrong to think of Chuck using a knife or a gun. She had tried to justify teaching him weapons skills, telling herself it was about her career, about his progress. But in the moment he had said that friends didn't surprise their friends, she realized that teaching him how to throw a knife wasn't about making her look like a better instructor. She wanted him to learn because she was scared he'd get hurt if he didn't know how to protect himself. She didn't want to lose him.

He was . . . he was special to her. He helped her laugh, made her open up about things she rarely talked about. He was so talented and focused, yet also empathetic and kind. She'd never seen anyone who could balance such different traits so effortlessly. What was more, he had a life outside of being a spy. He had a sister he was devoted to, a best friend he was always talking about, and he still had his sci fi movies and comic books and indie music. She didn't understand any of those things: having family to care about, enjoying something beyond well-sharpened knives or an air-conditioned hotel room.

He made it all look so easy. She was hoping they'd have time for her to figure out how he did it. Maybe once Omaha was done, and before she went into deep cover, they might-

She shook off the daydream before it could start. This meeting with Bentley worried her. There was only two weeks left in Project Omaha, and it was becoming clear who the lead candidates for the mysterious experiment were. If Chuck was the recruit selected . . .

Sarah took a deep breath. There was no sense in worrying about what she didn't know and couldn't control. She would go into that meeting and be the person in Chuck's corner. She would defend him against any criticism and fight for his best interests.

It was what a friend did. And she was determined to be the best friend she could.

XXX

Sarah walked into Director Bentley's office, her head held high. She nodded to the director, who gave her a Mona Lisa smile. "Agent Walker, it's good to see you. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, Director," Sarah said, sitting down and crossing her legs. She had chosen her clothes carefully, wanting to project the best possible image and have some extra confidence.

Bentley had a folder opened on her desk. Sarah sensed it was Chuck's, but she stayed quiet until Director Bentley looked up at her. "So, Sarah. You've had a lot of contact with Agent Bartowski. What are your impressions of him?"

"As an agent, or as a candidate for the Project Omaha experiment?" Sarah asked.

Director Bentley chuckled softly. "Insightful, as expected. Let's speak more generally. Do you think Agent Bartowski would be a success in the field?"

Sarah took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Yes, I do."

The director raised her eyebrows. "In spite of his reluctance to defend himself?"

"He is perfectly willing to defend himself," Sarah replied immediately. "What he is hesitant to do is strike out, to shift from defense to offense. Given his intelligence, I find it likely that he would be able to think out an escape from situations that other agents would fight their way out."

"Such a strategy is a higher risk," Bentley commented.

"True, but isn't the CIA all about reward versus risk? Agent Bartowski's approach is riskier, yes. But I believe it would be more rewarding."

Bentley flipped over a few pages. "Can he be trained to overcome such tendencies?"

"He's already begun studying the use of throwing knives, ma'am," Sarah said. "With your permission, I'd like to alter his schedule and substitute weapons training for one of his self-defense classes."

"That's very interesting," Bentley said, leaning back in her chair. "You've moved him on to weapons training? How did you accomplish that, if I may ask? After all, a weapon does inflict bodily harm, and that's something Agent Bartowski hasn't been willing to do, according to reports."

It took all of her willpower not to let her feelings come through. "Agent Bartowski and I have built a rapport. I was able to explain to him the necessity of learning how to use various weapons, if only for his own protection." Sarah paused, searching for the right words. "He's still uncertain, yet I feel he's adjusting to this new point of view. And he's giving this training his full attention, just like everything else he's learned here."

"I'm glad that you were proactive in addressing this challenge, Agent Walker," Director Bentley said smoothly. "It speaks well to your talents as an instructor."

Sarah inclined her head, accepting the compliment. She was pleased, but she couldn't help feeling like there was a trap being set. Whether it was for her or for Chuck remained to be seen.

"I approve your request to change Agent Bartowski's schedule-in fact, he's to drop your self-defense class entirely and replace it with weapons training. That will serve him in good stead, and leads us to the point of this meeting: Agent Bartowski's Red Test."

It was all she could do not to gasp at Director Bentley's words. A Red Test? For Chuck?

She swallowed. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Bentley raised her eyebrows. "If Agent Bartowski is to be a field operative, it's required that he take and pass a Red Test. You were aware of this, of course."

"Of course," Sarah said, hearing a tiny tremor in her voice. Yes, she was aware, from her own experience. The memory of her Red Test, performed less than a year ago, flashed through her thoughts before she ruthlessly shoved it to the back of her mind.

If Chuck was to be a field agent, he had to take a Red Test. Had to kill someone, in cold blood, accepting whatever reason the CIA told him for the execution of another person.

Her mind raced, realizing that Bentley wasn't saying anything. "If I might ask, ma'am . . . I've heard discussion about the Project Omaha experiment, one that will require the services of the best recruit here. Would the selected recruit be expected to take a Red Test?"

Bentley's face was implacable, Sphinx-like. "I suppose it's to be expected that word about the Intersect has gotten around. Yes, Agent Walker, this 'special experiment', which is known as the Intersect, is the real work of Project Omaha. And soon, an agent from among the recruits will be selected for this experiment. As far as the matter of the Red Test . . . it is expected that the Intersect Agent will have to take one."

Sarah nodded slowly. "So it seems Agent Bartowski is the front-runner to become the Intersect Agent, if he's being prepped for . . ."

"One could make that assumption, yes." Bentley looked at Sarah directly. "Agent Bartowski is certainly the most promising candidate. He's the recruit everyone's been talking about since we saw his high rate of visually-encoded data recall. Graham has wanted to accelerate the project from the start; if he had his way, Bartowski would already have the Intersect by now. But I knew it would take time to get Bartowski ready for this assignment."

"I . . . I would agree, ma'am," Sarah said, her whole body feeling cold.

"And that's where you come in, Sarah," Bentley said briskly. "Get Bartowski ready for his Red Test. Train him on weapons, impress upon him what his duty is to his country. In a week, he'll be told about the Red Test and his selection as the Intersect Agent. Do not reveal any details of our conversation to him before that meeting. Is that understood, Agent Walker?"

She licked her lips, trying to moisten her dry mouth. "I don't believe that will work, Director. I . . . let me talk to him about the Red Test. Warn him."

Bentley shook her head. "No, Agent Walker. The time for kid gloves is at an end. We need him strong and tough, and if he can't handle this, then perhaps he's not the right candidate after all."

"He is," Sarah insisted. "But if the whole point of Project Omaha is to think outside the box, we can't keep trying to force the agents back into the same old box. Whatever this Intersect is, it's enough of a test for C-Agent Bartowski. He'd be serving his country by participating in an untried experiment; isn't that a fairer judgement of his skills and mindset than asking him to kill someone?"

"Your objections have been noted, Agent Walker. I'd be willing to bend this rule-" Bentley held up her hand to forestall Sarah's interruption. "But I'm not the one to make the rules. I will consider what you have said, and pass it along to Director Graham, General Beckman and the rest of the decision-makers."

Sarah silently cursed bureaucracy and red tape.

"Again, keep this information to yourself," Bentley said. "If Agent Bartowski thinks he might get out of a Red Test, it could crush him if the powers-that-be insist upon it. I don't want to risk this project by losing our number one candidate. I'll keep you informed." Bentley gave her a curt nod of dismissal, and Sarah stood up slowly and walked out of the office.

She focused her eyes on the floor, trying to keep her breathing under control against the storm of emotions swirling inside her. In a daze, she walked back to her room and changed into a pair of shorts and a jog bra, then headed for her classroom.

Once inside the room, she locked the door behind her and took a few deep breaths.

Chuck. Sweet, kind Chuck, with the nerdy references she didn't understand and the softest eyes she'd ever seen, would have to kill someone. Would have to become a hard, tough killer.

He'd have to become her.

Sarah whirled around, punching the dummy squarely in the solar plexus. She peppered it with punches, then stepped back, breathing hard.

Her Red Test had been last December, in Paris. She hadn't let herself think about it since then, because . . . because it had been the moment when everything changed. The moment she had fully committed to being Agent Sarah Walker. She had thought before the Red Test that being a CIA agent was what she wanted, that she was prepared.

After the test, she knew that there was no other option. Because otherwise, she would have killed a woman for nothing.

_She __walked __past __the __dark__-__haired __woman__. __She __looked __so__ . . . __normal__. __Not __like __someone __who__'__d __turn __on __the __CIA__, __on __her __country__. __For __a __moment__, __their __eyes __locked__, __and __Sarah __realized __she __couldn__'__t __do __it__. __She __couldn__'__t __shoot __this __woman__, __even __as __her __hand __tightened __around __the __gun __in __her __coat __pocket__. __She __got __a __few __steps __past __the __nameless __woman__, __feeling __flickers __of __shame __and __embarrassment__. __What __would __happen __to __her __if __she __didn__'__t __complete __her __Red __Test__? __But __then__, __a __reflection __showed __the __woman __reaching __into __her __purse __for __something__. __Sarah __whirled __around__, __her __instincts __taking __control__. __Without __thinking__, __she __aimed __and __fired__. __The __woman __fell__, __and __Sarah __stared __at __the __body __sprawled __across __the __sidewalk__. _

Sarah had never found out what the woman's crime was. She didn't even know her name. Graham had assured her that all agents found their Red Test challenging. He had said that it was best to put it behind her. And that's what she had done. She had done her best to forget about it, to steel herself against her feelings.

But she wasn't made out of steel. Something had changed in her since last December.

She bit her lower lip, feeling her heart beat faster. No-no, no, no. She wouldn't think about him. She couldn't think about that.

With a grunt, she began punching the dummy again. The only sound was the thwaps of her fists and feet connecting with the rubber and her panting breaths. She tried to tell herself that she was just working out her frustration, eliminating her anger. Purging her emotions.

It was all a lie, though. She was lying to herself. Once upon a time, she would hit the heavy bag or throw punches at a practice dummy to deal with an annoying classmate or a difficult assignment.

But today, her solitary sparring was to escape herself.

She was under orders to prepare Chuck and keep quiet. If she valued her future as a CIA agent, that should be what she did. Keep training him, reassure him, help him. And not breathe a word about the Red Test.

But with everything she was, she wanted to tell him. Wanted to warn him. Wanted . . . wanted to tell him about her own Red Test, about the feelings she had. She wanted to tell him things she'd never told anyone. Not her father, not Graham.

"Hi-yaaah!" Sarah yelled, punching the dummy so hard it fell to the floor. She sucked in a breath, realizing for the first time how long she had been attacking the dummy. Her hands were red and stinging almost to the point of numbness. Sweat poured down her forehead and into her eyes, glueing clumps of hair to her neck and temples. And her legs felt shaky, barely able to support herself.

She dropped to the mats, grimacing at the grit that stuck to her damp shoulders and back. But she was too tired to move. Staring up at the ceiling, she let her mind go blank. She was so tired of thinking. Ever since she had met Chuck, all she had been doing was thinking and feeling, and she was just so tired . . .

Sarah closed her eyes. She forced herself to slow her breathing and relax her knotted muscles. Oh-so-slowly, she felt the tension begin to drain out of her. As that happened, her mind began to settle and stopped spinning.

She could tell Chuck. She could go against Bentley's direct order and explain what a Red Test was, to give him the time that he needed to process it. That was one of the things that was special about him: he thought things through. He didn't rely on his instincts; he didn't trust them most of the time. He had to examine a problem from different angles, making sure he understood the situation before even trying to come up with a solution.

If he had time, she could help him get ready.

Telling him, though . . . he would freak out. He'd get scared, and start doubting himself. Maybe she shouldn't tell him. Maybe it'd be best if she kept quiet, for his own sake-

Sarah took a deep breath. No. No more deciding for him. She had done that to him twice: when her positive evaluation had gotten him selected for Project Omaha and when she had convinced him to begin weapons training. In both cases, he had no idea of the reason for her actions. Didn't realize how much she was manipulating him.

The very thought made her breath catch, and touched off a wave of disgust towards herself. She didn't want to manipulate him. He didn't deserve that. Not because he was a fellow agent who was full of potential. But because he was Chuck, and he was her friend.

She still wasn't sure if taking his Red Test was what was best for Chuck. If seeing him as a full field operative, doing the kinds of things she did, was what she wanted for him. But it wasn't her choice. It was his.

And she owed it to him to tell him the truth. To talk to him, to explain all the aspects of the test. To even talk about her own Red Test and the emotions she had felt. To explain how she still hadn't fully faced what she had done, and how it changed you as a person.

Even if it made him stop being her friend, if it meant the end of that light in his eyes, the one he had when he looked at her, she would tell him the truth.

XXX

On Tuesday mornings, Chuck usually stopped by her office for a few minutes before his first class. She always liked seeing him first thing in the morning, his face still a bit soft from sleep, his mind a bit slower and thus more like a normal human's brain. As he talked about the previous night's training exercise, she watched him. Watched the way his eyes danced and his hands moved. Noticed the leanness of his body and the way he held himself with confidence.

The cowardly part of her said to put off the discussion. To enjoy this last chance to spend time with Chuck, before he could potentially hate her. She was still struggling with it when Chuck stopped in mid-sentence.

"Oh, hey! I got something for you."

Sarah looked at him in confusion. "What?"

He grinned at her. "I got you something. Well, it's more of a loan, actually." He turned to his messenger bag and opened it up, rummaging around before pulling out a battered paperback book. He proudly held it out to her.

_The __Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide __to __the __Galaxy_

"Remember from Mexico? I asked my sister to send me my copy, because I thought you might like to read it. I'm convinced there's a nerd under your really nice exterior, and if Douglas Adams doesn't bring out your inner nerd, then nothing will and then this theory will be proven as completely wrong and maybe this was an awful idea because you're not talking . . . hey, Sarah? Earth to Sarah?"

She looked up at him blankly at the sound of her name. As soon as she had read the title of the book, she found herself back in Mexico, sitting on a beach and listening to him talk about this book, about how much he enjoyed it and how important it was. He was full of passion and life and energy, and it had taken her breath away. Made her forget about what she was supposed to be doing there and wish, for just a moment, that her cover was the truth.

Sarah hadn't been prepared for that memory to resurface or for her sudden, unexpected, and incredibly badly-timed realization of why that memory affected her so much.

Chuck was staring at her, looking more worried by the moment. She had to say something, put his mind at ease. She managed a smile.

"Sorry-my mind wandered off there for a minute."

"I didn't know you let your mind do that," he said, his head tilted to the side.

"Sometimes," she said, her mind racing. "Hey, Chuck, what class do you have now?"

He frowned at her. "Covert operations, why?"

She got up from her chair and picked up her windbreaker. "Because you're going to skip it."

"Skip it? Sarah, I've never skipped class in my life-"

"There's a first time for everything, Chuck," she said, pulling on her windbreaker. She looked up at him and spoke quietly. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

He searched her face for a long moment, looking uncertain. "And it can't wait?" he asked cautiously.

She shook her head, and she could see the indecision in his eyes clear up. "Well . . . okay," he said. He set down his copy of _Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide_ on her desk, then looped his messenger bag over his torso.

Relief and fear warred within her as she lead Chuck out of the building. She needed to find someplace outside, away from any potential listening devices, but they also couldn't draw too much attention to themselves. She considered the track, but neither of them were dressed for running. That left walking around the base sidewalks, or . . . the museum! McClellan had an aerospace museum, and there were a few outside exhibits, complete with landscaping. The two of them could find a quiet spot to talk.

"This way, Chuck," she said, leading him towards the museum building. Within a few moments, they were walking past World War II-era planes parked on the tarmac. She walked fast, not wanting him to get distracted by the planes and the informational signs. When they reached a wooded path, lined with benches, she walked with him to the farthest bench and took a seat.

She looked up at him, patting the seat next to her. He sat down slowly, looking nervous. Like he wasn't sure what was going on. But he was going along with her, because . . .

Sarah bit her lower lip. She hoped he trusted her. And she hoped what she was about to tell him wouldn't destroy that trust.

"I wanted us to get away from everyone before I talked to you about this, Chuck," she said softly, looking at him. She clasped her hands together and rested them in her lap.

"Okay . . ." he said slowly. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Sending a silent plea to the universe to let her do this right, Sarah took a deep breath. "I have to tell you something. And . . . and it's against orders for me to tell you, but-"

"What?" he said, sounding shocked. "Sarah, you can't do that!"

"Chuck, you don't understand-I have to tell you this. I . . . I don't want to manipulate you."

"Manipulate me?" he asked, sounding confused. "When have you done that?"

"You . . . you know," she said, feeling shy. "On Sunday, with the knife training . . ."

His expression cleared. "You think that was manipulation? Sarah, no, I don't feel that way at all."

"You don't?" Sarah hadn't expected that. She thought he might resent her for forcing weapons training on him, for making him confront something that he was clearly uncomfortable with.

"No, not at all," he said, moving a bit closer to her on the bench. "Maybe you didn't do it in the best way, but-but you're right. I need to learn how to use weapons, even though I don't want to. And at least I know that with you as my instructor, I'll be prepared for anything. Because . . . because you're awesome."

She searched his eyes, looking for any signs that he was holding back on her. But all she saw was belief. Belief in what she said was the truth, belief that she would help him. Belief in her, period.

It made her insides feel warm and syrupy, having him look at her like that. Like she was full of goodness, when it was really him who was good and kind and honest. She couldn't help smiling at him, needing a way to share this wonderful strange warmth.

He smiled back. "Okay? No more talk about you manipulating me. Because we have to talk about you disobeying orders to tell me something. Sarah, you don't have to do that-I don't want you to risk your career . . ."

"I don't want to do that, either," she said, trying to match his honesty with her own. "The CIA is all I have. If I lost that, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

Chuck looked at her, worry in his eyes. "All the more reason for you not to disobey orders."

"I know, but . . ." She let her words trail off and looked at him. Looked at how the sunshine fell over his face, at how strong and secure and safe he seemed. She knew that appearances could be deceiving, but they weren't in this case. Chuck might react to unexpected situations by babbling and acting like he was paralyzed by fear, but she knew that reaction would pass once he started thinking. As he analyzed the situation, the fear would become manageable and he'd use that amazing mind of his to come up with something brilliant.

She didn't want him to feel exposed and vulnerable in front of Bentley and everyone else, when he was told about the Red Test, about being the pick for the Intersect. She wanted him to feel safe.

"Chuck, I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell you about the meeting I had yesterday with Director Bentley."

His mouth opened and closed, his eyes widening. When he found his voice, he stuttered a bit. "W-what?"

Sarah looked at him, then quickly swept her eyes around the area. Seeing no one, she slowly reached out and rested her hand on his forearm. His skin was so warm, and she could feel the muscles in his arm, the strength that he wasn't fully aware he had. She gave him a small smile.

"I think you deserve to know the truth, and . . . and I'm willing to take the risk."

He stared at her, looking at her as if she had just given him the world. And deep inside, she let herself enjoy this feeling. The sense that after all these years, she wasn't alone. She had someone who cared about her. Not as an agent or a pawn in some giant game, or who liked her because she was attractive and toned. No, she had someone who cared about her, about the person she was, and he didn't expect anything in return from her.

Chuck cared about her, and it was the best feeling in the world.

For one long moment, she focused on remembering this. Then, she took a deep breath.

"Have you ever heard of a Red Test?"

Chuck's forehead wrinkled as his eyes narrowed. "A Red Test? No . . . should I have? Is this something I missed on the first day of spy school?"

Sarah shook her head. "No-no, it's not something that's talked about at the beginning of training." She paused, trying to think of how to explain this to him. "Chuck, why do you think so many ex-military types end up in the CIA and NSA?"

"Umm . . . their fighting prowess?"

She gave him a small smile. "Close. It's because they follow orders. With Marines or SEALs or Army Rangers, there's no need to convince them that they should follow orders without question. They already understand that."

Chuck nodded slowly. "Okay, so following orders-that's good."

"In the eyes of the CIA, yes." Sarah licked her lips. "The Red Test is the way the CIA judges how willing you are to follow orders."

He sat back on the bench, but he kept his arm still so her hand didn't fall away. "I don't really understand where you're going with this, Sarah."

She swallowed. "I know. I'm sorry. This . . . this isn't something I like to talk about."

His eyes were warm and soft as he gazed at her. "Did you have to do it? This Red Test thing?"

Sarah nodded. "Last December."

"What . . . what makes the Red Test different from anything else?" he asked, his voice soft. "From any other set of orders to follow?"

She gazed back at him. This was the moment when she took away a chunk of his innocence. When she gave him the truth and let him decide what to do. She wasn't sure what would happen, but she knew that she would do everything she could to make it easier for him.

When she spoke, she kept her voice low. "Chuck, in a Red Test, you're ordered to kill someone."

End, Chapter 7

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: Worried about Chuck's reaction to this? The next chapter picks up from this point, so while there isn't a preview, you know that Chuck's going to have a lot of feelings about Sarah's revelation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 8/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s**** Note**: I hope the wait for this chapter hasn't been too much for y'all! I was juggling some work projects that seriously cut into my fanfic writing time. Please let me know what you think-I love getting reviews!

XXX

Sarah's voice was quiet when she finally spoke. "Chuck, in a Red Test, you're ordered to kill someone."

What? They did what?

_Kill_ someone? The Red Test was about killing someone?

He felt his hands shaking, and suddenly the sun shining down was too hot, too intense. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent an epic freak out. Not that anyone would blame him. In fact, he felt like holding a survey. "Hey, the secretive government organization I've been busting my ass to be a success for-they're gonna ask me to blow someone away in cold blood!" Out of a hundred people, ninety-nine would agree with him that this was messed up.

Why? What was the point of such a test? It seemed so extreme and wasteful and pointless. Did they just get sent out to kill random people? Is that what a CIA agent was: a government assassin? That didn't make any sense! What had he gotten himself in for? Killing people wasn't the reason he had signed up for this. He wanted to save people-not kill them!

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm down. It wasn't easy. One thing that helped: Sarah's hand was still on his arm. She hadn't let go, and her soft fingers-they should be rough with callouses, but they were so soft-were like little points of fire on his skin.

He opened his eyes and looked at Sarah. She was watching him, biting her lower lip. Sarah Walker didn't give away much, but when she nibbled on her lip like that, she was worried.

"I . . . I just can't believe that," he said.

Sarah nodded. "I know."

He kept his eyes on hers. "I had it all figured out, you know. I thought, the CIA won't care how I do my job as long as I get it done. So I would learn how to use weapons, and I'd even carry a gun, if they insisted. But . . . but I thought I could get away with not using it." He sighed softly, looking down. "Wow. How naÏve is that?"

"It's not naÏve," Sarah said. He shot her a look, and she shrugged a shoulder. "Okay, maybe it was a little naÏve. But that doesn't mean you'd have to use a gun that much. Not if you don't want to. Not if you can find another solution."

"Yeah, but how many field agents actually look for another one? Not many, right?"

Sarah's silence was answer enough. Chuck sighed. "Of course not. Because once you've killed someone, it gets easier. And that's just what they want-to have a bunch of killers that they can turn loose on whoever they think should die." He shook his head. "What the hell kind of organization is this? _This_ is my government, who sold me on this job by talking about all the people I'd help to save?"

He leaned against the bench's back, rubbing a hand over his face. Sarah had pulled away, probably to give him some space. He took a few deep breaths. He wasn't the kind of guy to get angry. But right now, he was mad. Mad at Professor Fleming, mad at the CIA, even a little mad at Sarah.

Chuck glanced over at her, then frowned. Sarah's shoulders were slumped, her head bowed. Like she was embarrassed-even ashamed, maybe. What did she-Oh.

Oh. He was an idiot. A really, really big idiot.

"Sarah?" He turned towards her. "Sarah, I was just-I didn't mean that I think you're-I'm sorry, I was only talking, just blowing off some steam." He reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry-Sarah, please look at me."

She didn't move. She was doing a really good imitation of a statue. Chuck felt a wave of regret come over him, for hurting her, for implying he thought such horrible things of her. Sarah was . . . she was so many amazing things: smart, beautiful, a good listener, full of interesting thoughts and secrets and mysteries, and he wanted to know all about her. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her.

He took a deep breath. "Sarah, I am so sorry. I-I don't think you're like the rest of them. You're too good a person to take the easy way out."

Her head was still lowered, and when she spoke, her voice was tight, like she was trying to hold back her emotions. "I'm not, though. My Red Test . . . I nearly didn't go through with it. I looked at the woman, and I thought, I can't do this. But then, I thought I saw her reach for a weapon, and . . . and the next thing I knew, I had shot her."

Chuck moved closer to her, his knee brushing against hers. "You were trying to defend yourself."

"That's no excuse," Sarah said, finally looking at him for a moment. Her face was pinched, her eyes watery. If she was any other person, he'd say she was on the verge of crying.

The thought that he might have driven Sarah to tears made him feel like the lowest of the low. He swallowed, searching for something to say. Something that wouldn't make her hurt more.

"If I was such a good person, I wouldn't have shot her," Sarah continued, her voice dull. "I never even knew her name or what she had done. I just . . . I killed her, just like I had been ordered to do."

"Sarah . . ." he said, feeling helpless.

"I did what I had been ordered to do," she repeated. "And then I shoved away the memory and didn't think about it, because otherwise . . ."

He rested his hand on her upper back. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Sarah."

"Is it?" she asked. "Even if I didn't think about it . . . I still killed her."

Chuck didn't know what to say. If he tried to reassure her, she'd probably see right through him. She'd see that he was saying things he didn't really mean, to try and make her feel better. And fake sympathy wouldn't work here. He-he needed to work this out. Try and find a way to help her feel better, while also figuring out just what he was going to do about his own Red Test.

He took a deep breath. "If you could go back, knowing what you know now, would you still do it?"

Sarah looked at him curiously, then turned her head and gazed off into space. He let her think as his hand started to rub small circles on her back. He could feel the tension slowly draining out of her muscles.

She spent a few endless moments thinking and then she nodded. "I . . . yes. Because I do believe in what the CIA does. And part of that is accepting that we . . . we work in the shadows. We do things that normal people shouldn't have to do, shouldn't have to face. And because we do, so many people's lives are saved." She paused, then turned her head to look at him. "I just wish sometimes the costs weren't so high."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah." He didn't say anything more, just kept rubbing her back.

Sarah ran a hand through her golden hair. His fingers itched to stroke her hair, but he made his hand stay on her back. "But wishing only works for princesses, as my dad said," she said, her voice soft.

"And you weren't a princess in his eyes?" Chuck asked, eager as ever to learn even a scrap of information about her past life. And perhaps to just take a break from thinking about having to kill someone.

"Sometimes he called me that, but . . . no, my dad saw me less as a princess and more as a-" Sarah checked her words. "As not a princess," she said.

"My dad used to say I was special," Chuck said. "Didn't stop him from leaving Ellie and me."

Sarah looked at him, squinting a little from the sun in her eyes, then she gave him a small lopsided smile. "Doesn't mean he was wrong."

His heart sped up. What she did to him . . .

Chuck pulled his hand away from her back and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you think I should take the Red Test?"

"It's your decision, Chuck," she said quietly. "That's why I told you-it only seemed fair that you have the chance to figure out your answer to that question."

He huffed out a laugh. "Nice evasion, Agent Walker."

"Well, I am a spy," she said, smiling at him for a moment before becoming serious again. "There's nothing wrong with deciding the answer is no. The CIA has plenty of other options for someone like you. Analysis, teaching . . ."

"But I wouldn't be in Omaha anymore."

He looked at her, wishing he had the courage to say what else he was thinking. If he didn't take the Red Test, he'd definitely never see her again. Analysts and field operatives almost never crossed paths. And Sarah was planning to go into deep cover operations, disappearing into a new life in a different country halfway around the world.

It wasn't that he was going to make this decision based solely on Sarah. But . . . but she had become a factor in his choice, and he couldn't lie to himself and think any differently.

"That's probably true," Sarah said, responding to what he had said. She glanced at him, then mirrored his position, her body less than a foot from his. "If you say yes, though, you need to know that it will change you."

"I understand."

He could feel her looking at him, but he stayed quiet, turning inward. And instead of talking, Sarah merely nudged his shoulder with hers, and then sat next to him while he thought.

XXX

The next few days passed infuriatingly slowly. Every moment, he kept expecting to be summoned to Director Bentley's office, to be told about the Red Test. Yet nearly a week had gone by, and there was nothing.

His thoughts kept going round and round in circles, trying to figure out what he should do. Should he take the Red Test, accept the consequences and the blood on his hands, and become a field agent? Or should he refuse and move into a career track that wouldn't ask him to do such deadly things? Even if it meant he'd lose out on all that he could be, all that he could have?

"Agent Bartowski?"

Chuck jumped. "Huh, what?" he asked, looking around.

"Nice to seeing you paying attention," his instructor said dryly. "Could you please demonstrate for the class how to set up a proper surveillance cordon?"

"Um-yes, of course, sir." Chuck got up and came to the front of the classroom. He looked over the equipment and cursed himself for zoning out during the explanation of what everything did. Fumbling with the various gadgets, he got the cordon established and stood back, bracing himself for criticism.

The instructor looked it over and tutted. "Hmm. Not very by-the-book, and as a result, we have several gaps in coverage. Have a seat, Mr. Bartowski, while Ms. Jones, why don't you show us the proper procedure?"

Chuck sat down, feeling his ears turn red. He forced himself to concentrate on the instructor and take notes, rather than getting caught up in his thoughts again. Revealing he was distracted was a bad idea. It might raise suspicions about just what got him distracted-and then Director Bentley and the others would connect the dots between his zoning out and the Red Test. And that would raise suspicions not just about him, but Sarah as well.

His worries were justified as soon as class ended, when one of the biggest jerks he'd ever met caught up with him. "Pressure getting to you, Bartowski?" asked Nick as he followed Chuck out of the classroom. "Too bad. Maybe everyone's been going too easy on you, but now they're seeing the truth."

"And what's that, Nick?" Chuck asked tiredly.

The stockier man moved around and blocked Chuck's path. "You're a waste of training. You'll never have the killer instinct."

"Is that all you think a spy is? A killer?"

Nick shrugged. "If it's what I'm told to do, I'll do it. Whether it's killing a rogue agent or seducing some old lady." He ran his eyes up and down Chuck. "Think you've got it in you, Bartowski? To be a real spy?"

Looking down at Nick, there were several emotions boiling inside Chuck. Annoyance at how Nick kept needling him. Disappointment for not paying attention in class. Worry that Nick was right and he wasn't going to make it. Fear that Nick was wrong.

Suddenly, like a light being switched on, he remembered how far he had come from when he started. How much he had learned and how good he felt, knowing he was going to help people, even if he didn't take the stupid Red Test and become a field agent. And he remembered that Sarah believed in him.

"You know, Nick, I think I do. I guess we'll have to see who's right," Chuck said, keeping his voice light and friendly. "And now I have to get to my next class. Have a good one."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall, trying to keep his breathing under control. He'd never been able to stand up to bullies before. Not like that, and not for himself. Defending Morgan had been second-nature to him, but when the bully would turn on Chuck, he'd freeze up, letting their words and/or fists hurt him. But he'd just swatted Nick aside, without being mean or cruel. Nick's words hadn't bothered him. Sure, they had hurt a little, but Nick seemed no different from those playground bullies he had faced through the years, and he'd finally held his own.

He could feel a grin on his face. It wasn't exactly winning a major battle or taking down an evil dictator. But he'd dealt with someone hassling him, and he'd done it on his terms.

This was new, and different, and a little scary, but also really, really awesome. He wasn't sure what had given him the strength to deal with Nick, but it was a really good feeling.

As he turned the corner towards his next class, he passed Sarah, who was going the opposite direction. She gave him a small smile, and he definitely noticed an extra sparkle in her eyes. He grinned wider but didn't stop to talk to her. In public, they had kept their friendship low-key, and after all, he did have class, even though he did want to tell Sarah everything that had just happened.

He shook his head as he walked into the classroom and took a seat. Who was he kidding? He wanted to tell Sarah everything. He wanted to make her laugh, he wanted to hold her hand for something other than weapons training, and he wanted to be the one she came to for help. Not that she needed help that often, she was Sarah, but he still wanted-

The smile faded from his face as his thoughts started to sink in. What . . . what was this? He couldn't-she was his friend, nothing else, and thinking that he might . . .

Chuck swallowed and looked around the room, feeling very exposed. Like there was a sign that had an arrow pointing at him, with the words Lovestruck Loser above the arrow.

But . . . it was the truth.

He had known he had more than friendly feelings for Sarah. He just hadn't realized how much more than friendly they were.

He was in love with her.

The instructor picked that moment to begin class, and Chuck forced himself to listen, to take notes and pay attention.

But inside his head, he was freaking out.

This was completely the wrong time to be having this revelation. There was just over a week of training left. He was bound to be called in for a secret meeting any day now, one where he'd be told he'd have to kill someone so he could become a spy. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do about the Red Test, and he was having delusions of romance!

And the fact that the voice in his head sounded a lot like C-3PO during the Millennium Falcon's escape from Cloud City was, frankly, the least-troubling thing about all of this.

Somehow, he got through class without any mistakes, breathing a sigh of relief. He had some free time now, so he made a beeline for his room. Closing the door behind him, he leaned back against it, soaking up the quiet and solitude. Now he could focus on this new problem.

Not that loving Sarah was a problem. Far from it, when he removed all the issues like the still-unspoken awkwardness lingering from the night they met, the fact she was his instructor, and how if he didn't take the Red Test he might never see her again. No, being in love with Sarah Walker was a very amazing thing.

But all those issues, not to mention that she might not love him back, made him wonder if his feelings were real, if he really-

Chuck pushed off from the door and started to change into jeans and a t-shirt. He knew there was no sense in pursuing that line of thought. Once he had put words to his feelings, he knew there wasn't any doubt about it. He loved Sarah. Few things had ever felt so right, so true. It was like knowing he could always count on Ellie and Morgan and that Brian K. Vaughn couldn't write comics fast enough for him.

Even if Sarah only considered him a friend, he knew he loved her. She inspired him to be better, because she was strong and smart and capable, and he wanted her to think he was all of those things. And yeah, she was completely gorgeous and beautiful and took his breath away, but that wasn't what he saw when he looked at her. He saw Sarah, an incredibly complicated woman that he trusted and believed in and loved.

He flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. So now he knew how he felt. The big question was, what was he going to do about it? And how did that relate to the Red Test?

XXX

Two days later, Chuck got out of bed and found an envelope had been pushed under the door of his barracks.

_Agent __Bartowski__:_

_At__ 11 __a__.__m__. __today__, __please __report __to __my __office __for __a __meeting__. __I__ would __like __to __discuss __your __progress __in __Project__ Omaha __and __your __future__._

_Thank__ you__,_

_Director __Jane __Bentley_

What a way to start a Monday.

He took a deep breath. So this was it. He'd have to act like he knew nothing about the Red Test when Director Bentley brought it up today. He wasn't sure he was a good enough actor for that, even though the fear and disgust were still strong when he thought about the test.

His revelation about his feelings for Sarah had given him a chance to stop thinking about the Red Test. Let him have some distance. But his thoughts hadn't become clearer with the break.

While his weapons training and his talks with Sarah had helped him feel like he could use a gun to protect himself or others, he still felt sick to his stomach at the thought of killing someone just because the CIA told him to do it. He wasn't sure if he was cut out to be the executioner for the CIA's judge and jury.

Yet he kept coming back to something Sarah had said, about being in the shadows. About how they did things that normal people weren't able to deal with. Logically, that made sense to him-about how there were people who did the dirty jobs. Jobs that no one else wanted to do, whether it was garbage collector or masked crime-fighter. Part of being a spy was about doing that kind of work, and if the Red Test was the way the CIA determined if you were cut out for that, then he supposed he could understand the test on an intellectual level.

It made sense in his head. But then he'd start thinking about the actual Red Test, about what it would be like, and he thought he was going to throw up.

Chuck still didn't know what his decision would be when he stepped into the director's office five minutes before their scheduled meeting. He was immediately ushered from the outer office into Director Bentley's presence.

Director Bentley stood as he entered and shook his hand. "Agent Bartowski, it's good to see you. Please, have a seat." She gestured towards the chair in front of her desk as she resumed her own seat.

"Thank you, Director," he said, sitting down and looking at her. The director certainly looked like a spy: polished, intelligent and remote.

She leaned back in her chair. "So, Chuck, you've done well here at Omaha."

"I . . . thank you, ma'am," Chuck said hesitantly.

Her smile was gracious to the point of condescension. "I'm sure you've been wondering about your future."

Chuck nodded silently, feeling his palms grow sweaty.

"I don't believe in beating around the bush," Bentley said. "Congratulations, Chuck-you are the candidate that has been selected for the Project Omaha experiment."

He blinked. "I'm sorry, but-what?"

Bentley raised an eyebrow. "Surely you've heard about the experiment at the heart of Project Omaha."

"Yes, ma'am, I have-but you're picking me?"

He had been so prepared to hear about the Red Test that he hadn't considered that there might be more going on than just that. The recruits had all talked about the experiment the Project Omaha scientists had been working on, one that involved strange tests all the recruits had taken. Things like looking at a picture book or figuring out a magic eye puzzle while hooked up to a MRI machine, intelligence tests, and more. He'd thought they were weird, but hadn't worried too much about it. He was now wondering if he should have.

The director laughed softly. "Yes, Agent Bartowski-you were the unanimous selection when I met with our scientists, the head instructor, and Director Graham. We feel that you are perfectly suited for the Intersect."

"The Intersect?" Any minute now, she was going to change her mind, Chuck thought, if he kept acting this dense. But his mind was whirling in a dozen different directions, his thoughts moving too fast for him to keep up with the conversation.

"Yes, that's what it's called. The Intersect is designed to allow an agent immediate access to intelligence gathered by the CIA and the NSA."

Chuck frowned as he tried to figure this out. "Is it some kind of ultra-fast computer?"

Director Bentley leaned forward. "In a way, yes. Your brain is the computer. The scientists have discovered a way to map data to images. These images will be fed into your brain, and can be triggered by visual or auditory inputs."

Oh, wow. That was . . . it sounded like science fiction! But crazier than anything he'd ever read or seen.

"So . . . so you'd see or hear something, and you would know intel?" Chuck asked, trying to work this out.

"Yes, in a nutshell. Thanks to your ability to process visual information, the scientists are very excited about seeing how you would use the Intersect."

He swallowed. That sounded dangerous. What if it fried his brain? Turned him into some drooling basket case-or even worse, took away his memories and feelings and made him a robot?

As if sensing his thoughts, Director Bentley stood and walked around to take a seat on the edge of her desk. "It's natural to be concerned about this, Chuck. You'd be taking part in an experiment that could have unintended consequences. But the finest neuroscientists and biologists have worked on this project, and they've assured us that the Intersect is as safe as they can make it. The only way to know if more improvements are needed is to upload it to someone."

"I see . . ." he said, trying to keep his emotions in check. "So . . . so you want me to upload this Intersect . . . and then what?"

"You'd undergo a series of tests, to ensure the Intersect is working properly," Director Bentley said smoothly. "And you'd finish your training before you'd receive your first field assignment."

"More training?" Chuck asked, wondering how he could ask her about the Red Test without bringing it up directly. He swallowed, then blurted out, "It's-it wouldn't be something like getting me a license to kill or something, right?" He tried for a smile, hoping she'd laugh and tell him that the CIA wasn't going to turn him into James Bond.

Bentley looked at him, then sighed softly. "So it would seem you've heard about the Red Test."

Chuck looked at her, feeling chagrined at slipping like that. He tried to keep his face neutral, nonchalant. He didn't want to give any sign who had told him about the existence of the Red Test-because that would mean big trouble for Sarah. "I have, ma'am."

She stood and paced for a moment, then took her seat. "It was too much to hope for that you might avoid hearing about it. After all, recruits do talk among themselves." She looked at him, as if encouraging him to agree with her.

"Yes, Director Bentley-I heard some other recruits talk about it." Chuck felt a passing regret over the lie they were creating, but he knew it was to protect Sarah. And it was a little bit true. He had heard other recruits talking about the supposed "scary-ass final" they would all have to take before their first assignments.

"Well, then. Yes, there is a mission that field operatives undertake at the end of their training called a Red Test. There have been some questions raised, though, about whether it's necessary for the Intersect Agent to take a Red Test."

Chuck felt his heart leap in his chest. He might not have to do the Red Test? He wouldn't have to kill someone?

"I can see that you're happy at the sound of that, Agent Bartowski," the director said, leaning back in her chair.

He tried to choose his words carefully. "Director, with all due respect-I don't want to be a killer for the CIA. I chose this because I want to help people."

"I understand that, Agent. Yet the Red Test is an invaluable tool, not just for the CIA to see if you will follow orders." Bentley focused on him, her eyes narrowed. "It's to prepare you for the day when you need to kill someone, as part of your duty to protect and defend American citizens. What happens if you haven't been trained and prepared to pull that trigger, and then, when the moment comes, you flinch? You end up dead, that's what happens-and that's the best case scenario."

"It's too high a cost," he said quietly.

"Not in the eyes of the organization that has trained you, Agent Bartowski," the director said. "At this time, we're tabling the Red Test. Due to the scientists' concerns about emotional stress, and Agent Walker's argument against the Red Test, we've agreed to focus on the Intersect for now."

Sarah had argued against him taking the Red Test? That was something she hadn't told him. And it made him curious about whatever she had said when she had met with Director Bentley.

"This doesn't mean you're off the hook, Agent Bartowski," she cautioned him. "It is still likely you'll have to take your Red Test later on. Don't let your guard down."

"No-no, I won't, Director," he said. If he had learned only one thing in his training, it was to be prepared. To try and anticipate what would happen next.

She nodded. "Very well. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Oh, do I have questions," he said, giving her a small smile. "But for now . . . can I have a day to think about this?"

"Yes, you can," she said. "Tomorrow, you'll have a chance to discuss the Intersect with the scientists, to help inform your decision. If you'd like to talk to your instructors, feel free-they've all been made aware of your status."

So he could talk to Sarah about this? He felt a wave of relief. "Thank you, Director."

"You've been given a rare choice. I strongly urge you to fully consider your decision. To make sure that if you refuse, you won't regret it." She looked at him for a long moment. "I'll expect an answer first thing on Wednesday morning, Agent Bartowski."

"Yes, ma'am. I-" He paused, organizing his thoughts. "I want to say thank you for this show of confidence in me. I . . . I really appreciate it." He held his hand out to her.

Director Bentley shook his hand. "You're welcome, Chuck. I look forward to your decision."

He nodded and stood up. "Yes, Director."

Chuck walked out of the director's office and leaned against the wall. The CIA had picked him for the Intersect. He . . . he was the top recruit. If he said yes, in a few days he could be turned into the hero the CIA wanted. Some kind of Captain America, going all over the world and helping people and protecting his country. He might not even have to take a Red Test.

He, Chuck Bartowski, could be the ultimate spy.

But was that what he wanted?

End, Chapter 8

XXX

**Author****'****s**** Note ****Two**: Enjoy this look at the next chapter of **Discovering**** Omaha**!

_Ever since their conversation in the garden outside the aerospace museum, she had been second-guessing herself. Should she have told him about the Red Test? Should she have gone all the way and let him know about his frontrunner status for the Intersect? Perhaps she should have done like his friend and downplayed his skills in that selection meeting months ago._

_Maybe she should have stayed on the beach with him. Not run away. Let him keep smiling at her, let him kiss her again . . ._

_Sarah shook her head, trying to push aside those thoughts and the knowledge that it was getting harder to do so._


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 9/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: How about Chuck's big epiphany in the last chapter? What do you think is on Sarah's mind right now?

XXX

During her Monday morning class, Sarah's mind was only half on her students. Chuck was having his meeting with Bentley right now. She was telling him that he'd be getting the Intersect, talking about when he'd take his Red Test. She was changing his life with just a few words.

And Sarah was worried about how Chuck would react to those words. Because she had no idea what he'd do.

Ever since their conversation in the garden outside the aerospace museum, she had been second-guessing herself. Should she have told him about the Red Test? Should she have gone farther and let him know about his frontrunner status for the Intersect? Perhaps she should have done like his friend Bryce and saved him from all this by downplaying his skills in that selection meeting months ago.

Maybe she should have stayed on the beach with him. Not run away. Let him keep smiling at her, let him kiss her again . . .

Sarah shook her head, trying to push aside those thoughts and the knowledge that it was getting harder to do so.

After she nearly took off a recruit's head due to her distraction, she dismissed the students five minutes early. She stood in the center of the room, breathing slowly with her eyes closed. She had to pull herself together. She needed to focus, to be there for Chuck.

Once she had told him about the Red Test, he had clearly started wrestling with the issue, trying to figure out what he'd do. Thankfully, he hadn't retreated into that closed-off, distant Chuck, the one he'd been during the first week of Project Omaha. Although they hadn't seen each other on Sunday for sparring or training, she had stopped by his room in the barracks for a few minutes, just to see how he was doing. He'd seemed a bit shy, something that she found strangely adorable. But he had still smiled at her, still made his usual jokes.

That made her think she had done the right thing in telling him about the Red Test. That he could handle these kinds of things if he had the time to process everything. It had been a theory of hers, and she felt pleased that she had been right.

She hoped that he could find a way to balance his morals with the reality of being a spy. He had such strong beliefs, and he'd managed to hold on to them during his training. It was amazing that he still saw things as right or wrong. She had spent too much time before she met him trying to convince herself that a wrong decision for the right reasons was okay. But being around Chuck made her realize how dangerous that kind of thinking was.

If he chose to take the Red Test, she was worried about how it would affect him. About whether he'd even be able to do it. The way she had done it-by relying on her instincts and going ahead with it-wouldn't work for him. He didn't have the same instincts. But he did have an amazing mind, one that worked in a way that she didn't fully understand.

There was so much about him that she didn't understand. But she liked those things. She liked how hesitant he had been to cross that line and learn how to use a weapon. His words in the garden, about how few agents considered other options once they'd learned to kill, made her realize how insightful he was. Because it was true: most of the field agents she had met, from Kieran Ryker up to Director Graham, saw violence as the simplest option. Chuck wasn't like that.

And she didn't want him to change. Not like that. She wanted him to stay the same smart, kind man, the one who was full of compassion and empathy. But she didn't think it was possible if he took his Red Test.

Sarah took a deep breath. She had another class in a few minutes. Perhaps she should get some air. When she stepped out of her classroom and saw Chuck waiting in the hall, she stopped in her tracks.

"Chuck?" she said, looking up at him in surprise.

"Hey," he said softly. "Do you have a minute?"

"Just-just a minute. I have another class."

He ran a hand through his hair, which had gotten a bit longer and was starting to curl again, almost like it had in Mexico. "I . . . I met with Director Bentley this morning. Did you know that?"

At her nod, he continued, keeping his voice low. "She told me that they want me to get the Intersect."

Sarah took a deep breath. "What are you thinking?" He was the important one right now. She could deal with her own emotions later, in the privacy of her own room and not in the hallway as recruits and instructors walked past.

He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. "A lot of things."

She couldn't help returning his smile. What was it about him that made her relax, no matter how stressful things were?

"Are you free later? I . . . I'd like to talk to you." He gazed at her, his eyes full of hope.

"I'm all booked up today, and tonight I have the instructors dinner," she said, hearing the regret in her voice.

"Tomorrow?" he said, moving a step closer to her. "Maybe . . . maybe we could have lunch or dinner together? Somewhere quiet?"

"Oh . . ." she said, thinking for a moment. "I . . . I could get some sandwiches for us, and we could eat lunch in the classroom."

He nodded. "That sounds great." He gave her a small smile. "I guess you've got class." He gestured towards the classroom behind her, filled with recruits.

"Yes-yes, you're right," she said, taking a step back, needing to get a little distance from him. "See you later, Chuck."

She turned and walked into the room, hoping that the rumor mill wasn't going to grind up Chuck and her. They were just friends, something they'd done their best to keep quiet from the rest of Project Omaha. The last thing he needed right now was gossip. There'd be enough of that once it was announced he would be the Intersect candidate.

Automatically, she began working with the recruits. As always, she found that using her body and demonstrating various techniques let her mind relax, moving from one thought to another.

Chuck was the Intersect candidate. It was all a bit overwhelming, to think that the gangly young man she had met so many months ago in Mexico was now this muscled almost-spy, one that had used his brains to rise to the top of his class.

But what would it do to him? He would have an untested dangerous experiment performed on him, after he took his Red Test to boot. Just the Red Test was bound to change him. Suddenly, she was full of questions, ones that she wanted to ask him.

She wanted to know he'd be okay. That he was doing this because he wanted to, because he thought it was the right thing. And she wanted to know every single detail about the Intersect, what it could do to him, how it might affect him. If he didn't know, she'd find out for him.

It was the least she could do for her friend.

XXX

Limping into her room, Sarah cursed herself. All her thinking about Chuck had lead her to make a rookie mistake: letting her thoughts get in the way. One of the recruits had kicked out awkwardly when he was sparring with her. His heel had caught her ankle in just the right spot to make her foot feel like it was about to fall off. She knew it was no worse than a slight strain, but it still hurt.

Giving thanks that she had a private bathroom, Sarah started filling the tub and got undressed. Sinking down into the hot water, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tiles. She had an hour before she would join the other instructors for their weekly dinner, and she needed the time to herself.

It had been a long day. With all her thinking, she still didn't know what to expect from her planned lunch with Chuck. She hadn't gotten a sense of how he was feeling when they had talked earlier. And for once, she hadn't been able to take her usual advice and stop worrying about the things she didn't know and couldn't control.

Too much was riding on this for her to not worry.

Sarah opened her eyes and sat up a little in the bath. She slowly rotated her bad ankle, feeling how the heat had eased some of the soreness already. At least something was working out.

She sighed. Something had changed in her. Had been changing for months, and maybe . . . maybe it was time for her to face up to it. She'd been trying to ignore it, but she couldn't hide any longer.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to focus and think about herself. It felt strange; she wasn't used to analyzing her thoughts and emotions. Ever since she had joined the CIA, her goal was to keep her mind on her assignment, to keep her attention on her current task. Self-reflection wasn't something that was encouraged.

Yet it was becoming more and more obvious to her that she was different now. Her sore ankle was a glaring example of that: she'd never been so distracted as she had been during her classes today.

It wasn't that she disliked teaching, or didn't care about the students she taught. She had found to her surprise that being an instructor was more rewarding than she had thought. There was a certain kind of pleasure in seeing a recruit improve through their hard work, or seeing how a student's eyes lit up when a concept finally made sense. It made Sarah realize that being a field agent wasn't the only thing she was good at. Perhaps she could teach at the Farm or Langley someday, if she got tired of field work or wanted a change.

She looked up at the ceiling and let out a soft laugh. The girl who had joined the CIA five years ago would never have considered teaching or staying in one place. She wanted adventure, excitement, a way to be the best and put her past behind her. With a lot of hard work, that's what Sarah Walker had become: the best.

But the thought of knife fights in Jakarta or starting revolutions in Bolivia wasn't so attractive any more. If she went into deep cover operations, she'd probably be paired with a partner, someone who could help watch her back while she watched his. Due to conventional practice and the large number of men in the CIA, she assumed she'd be working with a male agent. And while she hadn't had a problem with the agents she'd worked with, she knew that many male field operatives were like Kieran Ryker: arrogant, convinced they were God's gift, and eager to relieve post-mission stress in the bedroom.

She still wanted to be a field operative and work undercover. But now . . . now the agent that she worked with, the one who used to be all fuzzy and indistinct, had become real to her. He was tall and lean, sometimes a bit gangly, but able to hold his own in a fight. He was smart, with a brain full of nerdy knowledge that let him see new solutions to problems, and a sense of humor that made her laugh even when she didn't understand his jokes. And he had hair that curled when it got long, and brown eyes that lit up when he saw her.

Sarah swallowed. It was a really nice daydream: to work with Chuck, to be partners and spend all their time together, to see him come into his potential and learn more about him.

But it wasn't enough. She wanted more.

Her breaths started coming faster. She wanted more. She didn't want to hold his hand because their cover was as a couple. She didn't want to kiss Chuck as a way to deflect attention from them. And she didn't want them to have sex to blow off some stress.

She wanted it to be real.

She sat up and pulled her knees in against her chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable even though she was alone. This was why the CIA didn't want their agents to think about their emotions-they were too powerful, too unpredictable. It could turn a strong, confident person into a quivering mess.

That's what she felt like right now. Because her feelings for Chuck were more than what an instructor felt towards a recruit, or an agent towards a fellow agent. She wanted to keep him safe, wanted him to show the world all that he could do, wanted him to be happy.

And her feelings went very much past friendship. She was pretty sure she shouldn't want to kiss a friend like she wanted to kiss Chuck.

Her cheeks heated up as she remembered the kiss in Mexico. It had been sweet, almost tender, and she didn't know kisses could be like that. Kissing Chuck back then had opened her eyes, and now that she was finally willing to admit that, she couldn't stop thinking about that beach and how much she had liked him.

Yet as much as she had liked him then, she hadn't really known who Chuck Bartowski was. And now, after nearly two months of seeing him almost every day and talking with him and seeing how his mind worked . . . she more than liked him.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. She knew how she felt now. And her emotions had a power and a strength she'd never imagined. She didn't know what to do, how to act. Would people see the change in her? Would Chuck take one look at her and realize how much she cared about him?

If he knew how she felt, how would he react? Would he care?

Of course he would care, she reminded herself. This was Chuck. She'd seen him hesitate to punch a rubber dummy, of course he would react to finding out how she felt. But he felt so strongly about right and wrong. He wouldn't think it was right, to get involved with an instructor. And after all, she had been the one to offer to be friends. She had chosen to go against orders and tell him about the Red Test, even though Chuck had urged her not to do so.

He might not feel the same way. And that thought hurt.

Realizing the water had gone lukewarm and her fingers had pruned up, Sarah got out of the tub slowly. As she got dressed for dinner, she focused on taking long, slow breaths, trying to gain some control.

Now that she knew how she felt, she had to find a way to not let her feelings show. Not around her colleagues, at least. The CIA on a whole followed a version of "don't ask, don't tell". While becoming involved with a partner was usually overlooked, other relationships were dealt with more harshly. And she didn't want Chuck to get in trouble for her feelings.

What she would say to Chuck . . . she didn't know. Maybe at their lunch tomorrow, once she heard more about the Intersect and how he felt about it, she'd get an idea about whether to bring up her feelings.

She looked at herself in the mirror, taking in her casual blue top and the dark trousers she was wearing. Every hair was in in place and she'd used subtle makeup to highlight her eyes. She looked like a confident, in-control woman.

She hadn't realized how much a mirror could hide the truth.

XXX

Sarah let out a small sigh of relief as dinner drew to a close. She usually enjoyed the weekly dinner with the other instructors, hearing what the other agents were working on and talking about how the recruits were doing. But tonight, everyone had been buzzing about Chuck's pick as the Intersect candidate. She had been pumped for info about what she thought gave him the edge. She had talked a lot about his intelligence, about his innate abilities. But the truth wasn't something the other agents would understand, she thought.

Chuck was smart and talented, yes. But she thought it was his courage, his empathy, his sensitivity that made him so strong and ready for this challenge.

She looked down, hoping her thoughts weren't obvious to the others.

A rustle caused her to look up. To her surprise, Director Bentley had just stepped up to their table. "Good evening, everyone. I hope I'm not interrupting your dinners," she said, looking even more professional in her suit and heels, compared to the instructors in their casual clothing.

"Not at all, Director-we were just finishing up," said the lead instructor, an agent named Percy.

Bentley nodded. "Excellent. I was hoping I might join you for coffee, to discuss the conclusion of Project Omaha."

Sarah straightened her shoulders against the chill that was trying to work its way down her spine. With her worries about Chuck's Red Test and his selection as the Intersect candidate, she hadn't remembered that this meant Project Omaha would be dismantled. Or perhaps she hadn't wanted to remember, because she didn't know what was going to happen next for her.

"Of course," Percy said, jumping up and drawing a chair over for the director. He then looked around the table. "Anyone for coffee?"

A few heads nodded, and soon everyone was ready to listen to Director Bentley.

"First, I want to say bravo to all of you. The recruits have exceeded expectations, and it's thanks to your hard work," Bentley said, looking around the table. "Although only one recruit has been selected for the Intersect experiment, all of the recruits are well-prepared for their futures with the CIA."

Percy nodded. "Thank you, Director. I know I speak for all of us that this has been a very rewarding experience."

Bentley nodded regally, a calm smile on her face. "I'm pleased to hear that. As you know, your part of Project Omaha is ending in less than a week. Your new assignments will be finalized shortly. The recruits will be sent to their first postings, and some of them may be your colleagues. I'm confident that you will remain aware of your non-disclosure agreements when interacting with any former recruit you come in contact with."

That was . . . illuminating, Sarah thought. So Project Omaha was so top-secret that she couldn't act like she knew anyone she met here, if she crossed paths with them in the future. And not only was it illuminating, but it made her a bit nervous about the future.

She knew she had done well in this assignment. That had been all she wanted: to be successful enough to get a deep cover posting. It had been her path for five years, ever since she had been recruited. Yet that path wasn't so clear-cut anymore.

"I won't keep you any longer, since we all have much to do before Omaha is wrapped," Bentley continued. "However, Agent Walker, if I might have a word before you leave . . ."

"Yes, of course, Director," Sarah said, taking a sip from her water glass. It gave her a moment to think as well as moisten her dry mouth.

"Then good night, everyone," the director said, rising to her feet. "Sarah, why don't I buy you a drink in the bar?"

Sarah stood up, leaving some bills on the table to pay for her dinner. Then, girding herself, she followed Director Bentley into the dimly-lit bar that was attached to the restaurant. She took a seat across from the director at a high-top table in a corner of the bar, settling herself on the stool.

When the cocktail waitress stopped by their table, Bentley said, "A vodka tonic, please, with two limes. Sarah?"

"The same, please," Sarah said, not really planning to consume much of her drink. She wasn't much of a drinker, and the last thing her nerves needed right now was alcohol.

Bentley sat back in her chair, smoothing down her suit. "I hope you don't mind me surprising you with this meeting, Sarah. But I felt it was important to take advantage of the chance to speak with you."

"Not at all, Director," she said, folding her hands together in her lap. With everything she had, she focused on appearing unruffled and professional.

Bentley smiled. "You know, you're everything Graham said you were. Dedicated, talented, ambitious . . . I'm glad to be proven wrong."

Sarah tilted her head, not sure she understood the other woman. Bentley nodded. "I fought against your inclusion in Project Omaha. I thought you were the latest in Graham's Spy Barbie/Spy Ken line. Langston is infamous for picking up some young recruit and touting them as the second coming. They've all been fine agents, but none have distinguished themselves like Graham thought they would."

Spy Barbie? Was that what people thought she was? Sarah frowned slightly.

"But you, Agent Walker . . . you've lived up to the hype," Bentley said, taking her drink from the waitress and sipping it slowly. Sarah found herself taking a sip as well, needing a moment to calm her thoughts.

"I'm glad to hear that I've justified Director Graham's support," she said, a bit coolly. She might have her issues with Graham, but Bentley was practically a stranger to her and Sarah didn't know what her angle was.

"Your work with Agent Bartowski has been exemplary, Sarah. I've been very impressed."

Sarah licked her lips. "He's worked very hard. Actually, I think we've barely scratched the surface of what he can do."

"I agree with you," Bentley said, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "Regardless of whether he uploads the Intersect or not, he's an incredible addition to the Agency. Of course, I hope he does choose to take part in the experiment."

She nodded, hoping that was enough agreement to encourage Bentley to continue speaking.

"You'll be getting your official paperwork in a few days, Agent Walker. But I thought you'd like to know what your future holds."

At those words, Sarah's hand tightened on her glass.

Director Bentley looked at her for a long moment, then she smiled tightly. "Congratulations. You've been cleared to begin undercover work. Once everything gets wrapped up here, you'll head to D.C. for paperwork and clearances. And then, you'll receive your first field posting as a deep cover operative."

Sarah swallowed. This news was everything she wanted. Yet strangely, instead of feeling elation and joy, she felt numb. Unsteady. She felt like there was another shoe that was about to drop, something that was holding her back from getting excited. Had her instincts detected something in Bentley's words? Something that meant there was one last hoop to jump through before she got the assignment that most agents would kill to receive.

"You're very lucky, Agent Walker, to have supporters who are willing to overlook certain . . . violations. Violations like disobeying orders."

At Bentley's words, Sarah tensed for a moment, then did her best to relax. She might be younger than the director, but she had learned how to play spy politics from Langston Graham. "Are you accusing me of something, Director Bentley?"

Bentley's voice, already icy, grew positively frigid. "Of course not, Agent Walker. Not officially. Yet I think we both know how Agent Bartowski learned about the possibility of a Red Test. He claimed he had overheard other recruits discussing it, but since it's fresher in your mind, you'd know how little recruits know about their final exam prior to taking it."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Since the Project Omaha recruits are the best and the brightest, I don't find it at all surprising that they grasped certain details, ones that would elude most CIA recruits."

"Perhaps. You're very talented, Agent Walker, but you're also inexperienced," Director Bentley said. "Allow me to give you a piece of advice: be wary of hitching your wagon to someone's star. If they fall, you fall, too."

"That's an excellent piece of advice, Director," Sarah said. "Director Graham said you could be a mentor to me. I'm pleased to have gotten the opportunity to learn from you."

Ha, she thought mentally. Take that, Director Bentley.

Bentley let out an airy laugh. "Of course, Agent Walker. Mentoring our young agents is one of the highlights of my position. Seeing an agent grow and improve, helping them climb the ladder; it's very empowering. I'm sure you felt that way with Agent Bartowski."

"Yes, I did," Sarah said, taking a quick sip of her drink. "Seeing him achieve the status of top candidate has been very gratifying."

"It's a shame that your promotion isn't contingent upon Agent Bartowski becoming the Intersect," Bentley said. "That would be a real test of your abilities as an instructor."

"I'm surprised you didn't include that condition, Director Bentley," Sarah said.

"Unfortunately, my suggestion was overruled by Director Graham," Bentley said. "Yet I expect you'll do all you can to encourage Bartowski to become the Intersect. Using all your . . . powers of persuasion. But this promotion reflects the excellent work you've done, not just with him but with all your students."

Sarah didn't really want to think about what sort of "powers of persuasion" Bentley was recommending, but she suddenly felt very cheap. She wanted this to be over.

She nodded her head. "Thank you, Director Bentley."

"You're welcome," Bentley said, with the attitude of someone trying to end a distasteful conversation as quickly as possible. Bentley set down a ten dollar bill on the table. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the base and finish some paperwork."

"Of course, Director. Have a good evening."

The director eyed her for a moment, then slid off her stool gracefully. "Congratulations again, Agent Walker." With that, she turned on her very high heels and stalked out of the bar.

Sarah slumped back in her chair, relaxing for the first time in minutes. So, she had just been obliquely accused of treason. That was a first. She took a large sip from her drink, trying to steady herself.

When she had met with Bentley and heard about Chuck having to take a Red Test, she had only thought of the potential harm to Chuck. Of how he would freak out over such an act, and how he needed time to adjust. That was why she had gone against Bentley's order. She hadn't considered the repercussions for herself at all.

Bentley didn't seem willing to blow the whistle on her and deal with the fallout. That wasn't exactly a blessing in disguise, though. She was bound to tell Graham about Sarah's slip, and Graham didn't like his agents showing initiative like that.

She gazed down into her glass, letting her thoughts drift. How had she let herself take such a risk? She could have thrown away her career by telling Chuck about the Red Test. Why was she so willing to jeopardize not just her job, but her whole life?

Sitting in her bathtub, it had all seemed so clear. She wanted to work with Chuck, and maybe have more. But now, that plan seemed foolish and downright ridiculous.

With a shake of her head, Sarah began giving herself a mental tongue-lashing. Was she really considering changing all her plans for Chuck? Risking her career for a man who didn't even know how she felt about him? She slowly lifted her glass and took a deep swallow, feeling the burn of the vodka.

She had revealed too much to him already. Her breakdown when she convinced him to begin weapons training, nearly crying when she talked about her Red Test, getting distracted during her classes-what kind of agent was she, letting her emotions control her like that? What was worse, she had started to rely on him.

A teenage girl with a crush. That's what she had been acting like. And she couldn't keep doing that. Just like any other emotional situation or bad memory, she had to push aside her feelings. She needed to be rational and logical. No more long looks, no more special smiles, no more touches. She could still be his supportive friend, but she couldn't act like she wanted more.

She was an agent of the CIA and she had spent the last five years planning to become a deep cover operative. She wasn't going to risk that on a passing crush.

And although a tiny voice inside her said that this wasn't just a whim or a crush, Sarah ignored it. Instead, she finished her drink and rose to head back to the base.

End, Chapter 9

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: All the comments I've gotten on this fic so far really inspired me when it came time to write this chapter. Thank you so much for all your reviews and feedback!

Here's a sneak peek of Chapter 10:

_Becoming __the __Intersect __could __be __the __scariest__, __most __challenging __choice __he__'__d __ever __make__. __And __something __inside __him __was __all __tangled __up __in __some __way __that __wouldn__'__t __let __him __make __the __decision __yet__. __And __talking __was __the __only __option __for __figuring __this __out__. _

_Normally__, __he__'__d __talk __to __Ellie__. __She __might __be __a __bit __overbearing__, __a __bit __too __free __with __advice __that __sounded __more __like __an __order__, __but __he __knew __she __really __did __want __only __the __best __for __him__. __But __since __Ellie __was __out__, __that __left __just __one __person__. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 10/?

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: We're in the home stretch of this fic. This chapter has a lot in it, so I hope that means there's plenty to enjoy here!

XXX

Chuck took a deep breath as he got dressed on Tuesday morning. Today, he had the meeting with the Intersect scientists, and then he'd have lunch with Sarah. After that, he figured he'd spend some more time thinking, trying to decide what his choice was.

There was now less than twenty-four hours before he had to decide if he'd become the Intersect Agent. If he agreed to do this, his whole life would change. He wouldn't be just another agent. He'd be the Intersect. And that apparently meant something special.

He already had plenty of food for thought. Last night, he had gotten a packet of paperwork, detailing what would happen after he got the Intersect. He would get a long-term overseas posting, maintaining a cover that would allow him to work on various missions. He would also be part of a team of agents: there would be two other field agents, as well as an assistant to take care of weapons, logistics and other operational support.

It was dizzying to realize what he was expected to do if he got the Intersect. It made him wonder once again if the CIA knew what it was doing, picking him for this.

The papers hadn't pulled any punches. He'd be a fully-fledged field agent. That meant he'd have a weapon, he'd be expected to use deadly force if the situation called for it. He'd have to kill people, if they were threatening him or someone he was protecting.

Somehow, his objections about using weapons had started to shift. Between what Sarah had said in that initial weapons training session, as well as what Director Bentley had said about the Red Test, he had begun to see what they mean. If he hadn't tried to use a gun, he'd be scared stiff he had to use one in the field. But now . . . he at least knew what to do with it, how to aim and what to do if he had to use it. And it was the only way he'd be a field agent.

He was still scared at the thought of shooting someone. Holding a gun and pointing it at someone, knowing that at the very least, he'd have to aim for a shoulder or a knee. And then he'd pull the trigger, and . . .

Chuck shook his head. He needed to stop dwelling on this. Director Bentley had said the Red Test might not happen, and right now, he should focus on the Intersect. It was still pretty unclear to him exactly what the Intersect was or how it would work. It seemed like it was built off what he had learned in Professor Fleming's class: images made up of other images and visual prompts sparking connections within the mind. So far, so good. But it seemed that the Intersect went far beyond that, into the realm of comic-book science.

It was one thing to consider the origin stories of his favorite characters, and quite another to think something like that could happen to him. The Intersect seemed like some cross between the Captain America super-soldier serum and the Flash's electrically-charged chemicals, only applied to his brain instead of his body. But it was all so unknown. He hoped that talking to the scientists would help. Once he could understand just what they thought the Intersect would do to him, and how it would work, he thought he'd have a better handle on what he would decide.

At least, that's what he hoped.

XXX

As Chuck walked out of his meeting with the Intersect scientists, he felt like his head would explode if he had to remember one more thing. He had thought it would be like talking to fellow nerds, with Star Wars references and comic book comparisons. Instead, the scientists involved with Project Omaha were more like robots. They were all about baselines and statistics. He was pretty sure he had seen more graphs that morning than he had in his four years at Stanford.

He walked into his room and looked around, knowing he should sit and think over what he had learned. But instead, he quickly changed his clothes and headed to the track. Hopefully, a run would let his mind settle down.

As soon as he got to the asphalt circle, he did a few quick stretches, and then he ran. He went flat-out, as if he was running away from something. Maybe he was. But there was something about his feet pounding on the pavement, his breathing coming hard and fast, that let his brain calm down. It went blissfully blank, for the first time in what felt like days.

Ever since Sarah had told him about the Red Test, he had been thinking and worrying so much that he hadn't felt like he had any peace. He hadn't been sleeping well, he'd been distracted in class . . . it was a miracle he hadn't screwed up more than he already had.

After a few minutes of hard running, he had to slow down. Shifting to more of a jog, he kept moving around the track, trying to keep his mind quiet. He chuckled a little as Yoda's advice from Empire bubbled up. _"__You __will __know__ . . . __when __you __are __calm__, __at __peace__, __passive__."_ He was being more active than Yoda might recommend, but since Chuck didn't have the Force at his disposal, this was the best way he knew of calming down.

So what did he know? The Intersect was designed to reveal information when the agent saw or heard something that acted as a trigger. The scientists had explained that it could be anything from seeing a tattoo to hearing a voice. Once that happened, Chuck's brain would recall the intelligence. So just by being observant and eavesdropping, he could recognize terrorists or identify plots.

The lead scientist, who had told Chuck to call him Perseus, said that they suspected learning the intelligence would be a bit like a computer downloading a piece of information from the Internet. Chuck would be vulnerable for the few moments that his brain would be accessing the info, but "that's why you'll have a team in the field, of course," Perseus had reassured him. "And we foresee the primary use of the Intersect will involve a lot of reading, going over reports from sources, things like that. Not going out in the field to rustle up a mission."

"So this doesn't replace the knowledge that I learn through traditional methods, right?" Chuck had asked.

Perseus had answered in the affirmative, but he had seemed a bit uncertain. From watching all the scientists in action, Chuck had a feeling that there was something else going on-that there were other people involved that might know more. But since Perseus had been introduced as the lead scientist, and he was able to answer all of Chuck's questions, he had to accept that it might just be newfound paranoia.

Chuck huffed out a laugh. Paranoia was justified in this case, he thought. The info about what this might do to his brain was pretty slim. The scientists felt that the Intersect would utilize underused portions of his brain, without overwriting his memories or wiping his brain. They told him several times that it should be safe, that all the research indicated that this wouldn't turn him into a vegetable, but he wasn't sure who they were trying to reassure.

It was a really big risk, he knew. He could practically hear Ellie's shrieks about what he was considering, how the brain wasn't something to be messed around with. And for the most part, he agreed with her. He knew that there was still a lot that scientists and doctors didn't know about the brain. They were always learning new things about the brain, seeing unexpected results from their experiments. He never thought that research would affect him, though. Not so up-close.

But if he did this, and it worked . . . it could be really, really amazing. He could be both a field agent and an analyst. It wouldn't be just about the James Bond butt-kicking; he'd be interpreting data, writing reports and helping the CIA be more effective. The world seemed to be changing so fast-faster than most people could keep up with. How many really smart people had come into the Buy More, lugging computers that they couldn't get to work because they didn't understand IP addresses or defragging a hard drive? Chuck thought it was the same way for spies: there was even more need for smart, thoughtful people that could also kick butt.

And he could be one of those people. In fact . . . he was.

He slowed down, walking around the track as that realization sunk in. He had gotten a lot better in hand-to-hand combat. He was slowly learning how to use weapons, and he could handle them okay. And while that was still a bit stomach-turning, it was also something that made him feel safe. To know that if something happened, he wouldn't curl up in a ball and freak out. Well, he'd still freak out. But he could hide it, and he could overcome the freak-out and defend himself and others.

Chuck swallowed, wishing he had thought to bring a water bottle with him so he could deal with his suddenly dry mouth. Was he willing to take the risk? Risk destroying himself, if it would help people? Help his country? Let him make a difference?

He wasn't sure. There wasn't much he felt confident about right now. He wanted to believe that the CIA had his best interests at heart, that they wanted him to succeed. But it was hard to square that with the Red Test, and how it would have been sprung on him without warning if Sarah hadn't told him about it. Of course, it turned out that they were more worried about the Intersect than anything else.

It was understandable. They wanted him to be the Intersect, but they knew how risky the procedure was. Instead of ordering him like any other agent, the decision was in his hands.

And he'd never had a decision he was so worried about screwing up.

If he turned down the CIA, he suspected his career would pretty much be over. Sure, they wouldn't kick him out, but they'd turn him into an analyst, put him in a cubicle in DC, and spend the next forty years reading websites and writing reports. He'd probably help people, but . . . but it really didn't sound all that interesting. It'd all be so remote. It wasn't that he wanted to be like Superman, getting grateful thank-yous from the people he'd save. But he'd like to see the people he helped. He could be more than an analyst. He wanted to be more.

But if he agreed to become the Intersect . . . the expectations would be so high. Could he live up to them? Would he even be able to? How would they explain it to Ellie if something happened to him? He still hadn't told her the truth about joining the CIA. Would his sister hate him forever when she found out he had lied to her?

Becoming the Intersect could be the scariest, most challenging choice he'd ever make. And something inside him was all tangled up in some way that wouldn't let him make the decision yet. And talking was the only option for figuring this out.

Normally, he'd talk to Ellie. She might be a bit overbearing, a bit too free with advice that was more like an order, but he knew she really did want the best for him. But since Ellie was out, that left just one person.

XXX

He picked up the pace as he came closer to Sarah's classroom. She had left a message on the door to his room, saying that they could have a late lunch in the martial arts dojo around one-thirty. That had given him enough time to shower after his impromptu run. The last thing he wanted was to show up sweaty and smelly at a lunch with the woman of his dreams.

The woman who had trained him to be a spy, who was a spy herself, and who had no idea how he felt about her.

Chuck sighed. The news about the Intersect had made him focus on his future, yet he hadn't let himself consider what part Sarah would play in that future. Because it all came down to whether he should tell her about his feelings. After all, she had her career and a really bright future of her own. Maybe she wouldn't be interested in dating him. And even if she was interested, a long-distance relationship couldn't be easy for two spies.

He gave himself a mental shake. Sarah had always said he needed to focus more. Now was the time to do that. He needed to figure out what he was going to do about the Intersect, and getting distracted by his feelings for Sarah wouldn't do that.

Fully convinced that his brain had gotten the message, Chuck opened the door to the classroom and stepped inside. Yet at his first glance at Sarah, his heart told his brain to take a back seat.

Sarah was wearing her standard attire of black yoga pants and a close-fitting t-shirt. Her blonde hair, loose from its ponytail for once, swung around her shoulders as she moved slowly, her eyes closed. Her movements randomly reminded him of Worf's tai chi routine in Next Generation.

Not only did she seem extra beautiful to him, but she looked graceful, centered, relaxed. He knew how strong she was, how much power she had. Enough to kick his ass, enough to crush him. And she wouldn't need anything more than the words "I'm just not into you, Chuck."

Chuck swallowed. The Intersect. He was here to talk to her about the Intersect.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Sarah's eyes opened and she turned to face him. She gave him a smile that he could only describe as kind. "Hi, Chuck. Come on in-I've got the sandwiches over here."

He frowned slightly as he watched her. Something seemed different about her. It was like she was keeping him at arm's length.

"Um, sure," he said, walking to the middle of the room. He joined Sarah on the floor, where she had spread a few cold sandwiches and two bottles of water.

"There's turkey and roast beef," she said. "Take your pick."

"Okay," he said, taking the roast beef sandwich and feeling his nerves increase by a factor of two. And that really shouldn't be possible, given how nervous he already was.

Sarah opened her bottle of water and took a sip, then looked at him. "So . . . you're the Intersect candidate."

He nodded, swallowing the bite of sandwich. "Yeah . . . yeah, I am."

"It must be really overwhelming," Sarah said, taking a small bite of her sandwich.

"Putting it mildly, Sarah," he said, hoping that she'd smile at him so he could relax. And she did smile, but it wasn't the smile he had grown used to seeing: not the big happy one, but a small, friendly one.

Chuck took a deep breath. Maybe, over the last few days, he'd given away how he felt about her. Maybe this was her way of letting him down easy, so they wouldn't have an embarrassing conversation. If that was the case, then . . . then at least she was his friend.

As if reading his thoughts, she set down her sandwich and looked at him. "Are you still trying to figure out what you're going to do?"

"Yeah . . ." he said, trying to gather his thoughts. "There's been a lot to take in, between meeting the scientists and learning more about what would happen afterwards."

Sarah gazed at him, not saying anything, but her attention spurred him on.

"I don't even know where to start," he said. "There's the danger of the procedure itself, the risk to me. And then there's what would would happen if it doesn't work-but if it does work, then . . . then I'd have all these expectations and responsibilities, and-and that's a lot to live up to, Sarah. Did you know I'd have a team? Fresh out of training, and I'd be leading a team, and I don't even know if I can do that . . ." He took a deep breath, trying to slow down his rambling.

"It's a lot to consider." Sarah gave him a small smile, one that was less reserved than her earlier one.

He smiled back, then took a bite of his sandwich, letting his mind organize his thoughts while he chewed and swallowed. "It's weird, but I'm more worried about the Intersect working and not being able to live up to it, than it scrambling my brains."

Sarah nodded. "I can understand that."

"Yeah?" he asked her.

"Of course," she said. "Neither of us are the kind of people who like the idea of failing. I mean, I'm certainly not, and you . . . neither are you." Sarah stumbled a bit over her words, then picked up her bottle and drank some water.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I don't like disappointing people. And if I don't cut it, it's not like they can take the Intersect out of my head and give it to someone else."

"They can't?"

Chuck shook his head. "They're still working on how to upgrade the thing, let alone remove it. But they said they'd know more once they saw how it worked in my head." He managed a lopsided smile. "None of the scientists exactly understand my reservations about it. I could practically see them thinking, 'Do it so we can study you!'."

Sarah let out a soft chuckle, and Chuck grinned at her. This wasn't so bad. She had definitely loosened up. Perhaps she had just been worried or nervous when he came in, for some strange reason.

Silence fell between them, punctuated only by the soft noises of eating and drinking. Once Chuck finished his sandwich, he shifted and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"You don't seem as nervous as I thought you'd be," Sarah said quietly.

He shrugged. "The idea's finally starting to sink in. I'm who they want to be the Intersect."

She nodded. "You really are the top of the class, you know."

"Even with not liking guns?" he asked curiously.

"Even with not liking guns," she said. "Because your scores in other classes were so much higher than everyone else's. And of course, there's your initial test scores."

Chuck looked at her, her words reminding him of one of his nagging questions. "Sarah? Do you-I mean, you don't have to tell me if it's breaking some kind of national secrets policy, but . . . but just how well did I do? On that test?"

He'd wondered about that ever since Professor Fleming had approached him. Why had the CIA wanted him so badly?

Sarah looked at him for a long moment, her eyes uncertain. Then, she spoke quietly. "In the testing that your professor gave you, you identified ninety-eight percent of the encoded images."

"Ninety-eight?" Whoa. That-that was really high.

She nodded. "Yeah. Almost ten percentage points higher than the next-highest recruit." Sarah managed a weak smile. "You were the guy as soon as they saw those scores."

He was the guy . . . Chuck shook his head, coming to grips with that. He had no idea he had done that well. He fidgeted a bit with the sandwich wrapper. "So all of this . . . they were going to make me the Intersect, no matter what?"

"No, I don't think so," Sarah said, looking at him. "They wanted to make sure that you could cut it as a field agent. They want the Intersect out in the real world, not sitting at a desk."

"Yeah, I guess," he replied. "But . . . but I would have to be really bad to not get the Intersect, right?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Chuck. Does it really matter?"

"I . . . I don't know." He stood up and started pacing. "I-I think that I could do okay with the Intersect. That I could use it to help people. If I'm lucky, and if I work hard."

"You'll have help, too. You said you'd be working on a team?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I would be. Two other agents."

Sarah rose to her feet, picking up the papers their sandwiches had been wrapped in. "You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Chuck." She tossed the papers in the trash can and turned to face him.

"I know that, but . . . but I'd be the one with the Intersect." He let out a sigh and sat back down, picking up his water bottle and taking a long drink.

She joined him on the floor, pulling her knees in against her chest. "You sound like you've made up your mind."

Chuck shook his head. "No . . . no, it's still pretty confused in my head." He played with the label on the water bottle, and then, almost before he thought the words, he spoke. "Do you think I should do it?"

Sarah's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

He flushed. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that. I just-you're my friend, and you haven't really said much about what you think, so . . . so I was curious."

"I . . . it's your decision, Chuck. Just like with the Red Test," she said, tightening her grip on her knees.

Chuck looked down, feeling a bit disappointed. It was true that it was his choice, but . . . but he wished she'd talk to him. Like she had when she had told him about the Red Test.

"I don't have to take that, you know. The Red Test, I mean. Director Bentley said that it's on the back-burner, because the scientists think the stress could affect the Intersect," he said. He paused and looked at Sarah. Maybe-maybe he shouldn't hold back. She hadn't been acting like herself during this whole lunch, and he really wanted her help with this decision.

"Director Bentley also said that you argued against me taking the Red Test," Chuck said.

"I did," Sarah said, sounding like she was working hard to keep her voice even. "I thought you needed more time to be ready for it."

"You-you're right," he said. "I did need more time. Now . . . now it's less scary. Well, actually it's still scary," he corrected. "But . . . but I understand it, even if I don't like it. I guess with the news about the Intersect, I got some perspective on the Red Test, maybe."

Sarah's face didn't give anything away about how she was feeling. Chuck swallowed. "Sarah? Is-is something wrong? Did I do something?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Sarah's eyes darted around the room, refusing to focus on him.

"You've barely said anything today, you won't look at me . . . the signs are pretty obvious, even to me."

"Everything's fine, Chuck," she said, finishing the last of her water. She managed to lock eyes with him for a split-second before she looked away again.

He shook his head. "I don't believe you, Sarah. You're acting like the last place you want to be is here. Maybe I should-" He got up, disappointment and confusion warring inside him as he turned towards the door. He stopped when he felt Sarah's hand on his arm.

"Chuck-no, don't go." He turned to look at her and found her looking at him, really looking at him. "I'm sorry," she said, her face flushing a little. "I-I have a lot on my mind, like you, and . . . I'm sorry," she repeated.

"What can I do?" At the confused look his words drew, he explained. "Let me help. I don't just talk-I can listen, too. See these?" He pointed to his ears, smiling at her. "These make me a very good listener."

Sarah let out a soft laugh. "I know, Chuck."

The tension he didn't even realize he had started to flow out of him at the sound of Sarah's laughter. "I mean it."

"I appreciate the offer," Sarah said with a smile. "I'm sorry I was distracted. Let's sit back down and figure out what you're going to do about the Intersect."

"Okay," he said, smiling at her. He managed to sit down somewhat gracefully, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. Sarah mirrored his position, looking infinitely more at ease.

"Maybe you need to consider the good points about the Intersect, and then the bad things, and whether the bad outweighs the good," Sarah said, leaning in towards him.

"A pros and cons list," Chuck said. "That sounds good. Okay, so . . . pros. It'd let me help a lot more people. We could be more effective in capturing terrorists. I'd get to be part of an experiment that could help scientists learn a lot about the brain. It'd . . . It'd be really cool." He grinned sheepishly at Sarah. She smiled back and nodded for him to continue.

"I know getting the Intersect won't make all my problems go away. But I think . . . I think I'd be stronger, smarter. And if I was smarter, I could do so much more."

Sarah looked at him, something he couldn't describe in her eyes. He gave her a small smile. "Those are all the good things."

She nodded. "I think you want the Intersect for the right reasons."

"And what are those?" he asked curiously.

"You don't want it for yourself," she said, her voice soft. "You want it so you can help other people. You don't want to use the Intersect to . . . I don't know, become an evil mastermind."

Chuck couldn't help laughing. "Very comic-book villain, Agent Walker."

Sarah chuckled. "You're the expert on that."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, I am."

"I suppose that leads us to the bad things," Sarah said, looking thoughtful.

"Well, it might not work," he said, starting with the biggest con. "It might turn me into a vegetable. The scientists say there's only a five percent chance of that happening, but . . . but it's still scary. Even if it does work, I might not use it right, or make a big mistake that hurts people. Or . . . or it'd change me. Turn me into some kind of robot."

"Those would all be very bad things," Sarah said softly.

"Yeah . . ." He let his voice trail off. He looked at Sarah, wondering what she was thinking. Wondering if she had any idea what he felt for her. Perhaps . . . perhaps he should tell her. Bring his feelings out in the open. It had worked earlier, when he confronted her about her odd behavior. Maybe he should take a chance: tell her how he felt and that he wanted his choice to be something that she could understand and hopefully even support.

"Those are some pretty big cons. It must be scary to think about them all." Sarah's voice drew him out of his thoughts. She must have thought he was dwelling on them.

He nodded. "Yeah, they are . . . but I don't know if they trump all the good that I could do as the Intersect."

A flicker of emotion crossed Sarah's face, so fast that he wasn't sure what it was. "It's something to consider," she said slowly, as if she was choosing her words carefully. "But . . . but I think you would be a great agent, with or without the Intersect."

Chuck looked at her. "Do you really think that?" He almost held his breath, waiting for her answer.

"I really do," she said, gazing at him.

Her confidence in him was . . . it made him willing to take chances.

"Sarah?"

Her blue eyes locked on his brown ones, and it was like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. He felt his breathing speed up, and he cleared his throat. "There . . . there's something else that's a factor in this decision for me."

"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

This was it. He was going to tell her.

"Well-" His voice cracked, and he swallowed. "Well . . . you."

Sarah stared at him, her eyes going wide. "What?"

"I mean . . . Sarah, I don't want to be just your friend." He risked moving closer to her, and when she didn't move away, he kept talking, his words tumbling out of him. "I haven't since we met in Mexico, and getting to know you and seeing how amazing you are-I want more."

She didn't say anything, but she didn't look repulsed, like she was ready to run far, far away. He talked faster. "Taking on the Intersect, traveling all over the world and saving people-I could do it and not worry about the risks if I knew you were proud of me. If you thought I was worthy of you. Don't get me wrong, it's not just about you, but if-if you were willing to try a real relationship with me, it'd make me the luckiest man alive."

His words hung in the air; he could almost see them floating like specks of dust. Sarah was very still, but he could see the emotions churning in her eyes. She looked a bit confused and uncertain, but there was also something soft and warm in them, like maybe, just maybe, she returned his feelings. Yet she wasn't talking, and her body was almost stiff, like she was holding herself back.

Chuck swallowed and rose onto his knees, leaning in towards her. His fingers slid along her jaw, touching that satiny-smooth skin he'd been dreaming about, and Sarah's gaze dropped down before lifting up and locking on his eyes. And what he saw in her eyes made him close the distance and kiss her softly.

Touching her lips made him close his eyes so he could focus on this perfect feeling. It was a million times better than in Mexico, because this time, he knew he was kissing the real Sarah. Her mouth was sweet and soft and warm, and he wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life. After the initial contact, he felt her respond a little, her lips moving against his, and that was even more perfect.

Yet after only a few moments, Sarah pulled back. It took him a moment to accept that the kiss was over, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Sarah's cheeks were pink, and she was breathing a bit faster. He felt his heart pound, waiting for a slap or words that could crush him. Because . . . because otherwise, it would be a dream come true.

End, Chapter 10

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: This chapter was a lot of fun to write and fairly easy. I can't say the same for the next one, but I'm excited to be nearing the end! Since the next chapter is still in a lot of flux, no preview this time. See you next week!

If you're interested, I'm writing another fic called **Chuck ****vs****. ****the ****Wildcat**. Give it a look if you like the Wild West, humor, and Chuck/Sarah romance!


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 11/13

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: I really had to grit out this chapter, but I wanted it to be perfect because it was so important. I hope you enjoy it!

XXX

This wasn't what she was supposed to be doing. She had wanted to be professional yet friendly. This meeting was supposed to be about helping Chuck make his decision, without letting herself reveal what she really felt for him.

Instead, just like in Mexico, he was kissing her. He was kissing her after saying the sweetest words she'd ever heard, after putting his heart on the line.

This shouldn't feel so right. She shouldn't be kissing him, and she shouldn't be so eager to keep kissing him. This wasn't the way to help him. And kissing Chuck was the last thing she should be doing if she was putting her career first, like she had promised herself that she would.

Sarah pulled away, feeling the heat in her cheeks. It took Chuck a moment to open his eyes, and she couldn't help gazing at him for that moment. She didn't get that many chances to really look at him, and suddenly she couldn't look away from him. He wasn't classically handsome, but she liked his looks, his eyes and smile and how his emotions were always on display.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked at her, she felt cold, hard reality slap her in the face. She hadn't wanted to lead him on, yet her attempts to be a friend and nothing else were too severe, too much of a change of behavior. Compounding her rookie mistake, she had gone too far in the other direction after that, trying to reassure him and get him to open up.

She had given him too much hope, but she hadn't meant to do that. Because she wasn't sure she had it in her to crush that hope. But she had to think about her future, and his, and . . . and someone had to stop this from going too far.

Sarah licked her lips, then swallowed. "Chuck . . . I don't know what to say."

The light in his eyes faded a little. He took a deep breath. "Yeah . . . I-I kind of threw that at you . . ."

"Um, yeah," she said. She scrambled to her feet. "You should focus on the Intersect. On making your decision. I'll support whatever you decide. Just like a friend would."

"Sarah, please," he said, getting to his feet. "Please-don't ignore this . . . " He looked at her, his eyes pleading with her.

She felt her stomach twist as she looked at him before quickly dropping her eyes. How could she explain everything she was feeling to him? Especially when she didn't understand herself right now?

"I'm not, I just-" She shook her head, trying not to sound so confused. "I just need time. And-and you shouldn't let yourself get distracted when you've got such a big decision to make." She made herself look at him, trying to still be a friend to him. "You'll be fine, Chuck."

Somehow, she managed to smile at him, hoping that it was reassuring and supportive. Then, she turned and walked out of the classroom at a fast clip.

Just like in Mexico, she was running away. And like then, she felt vulnerable, defenseless. Stripped down and taken apart, just like a gun. And when that happened, the gun was useless, unable to fulfill its purpose. That's what she felt now, stunned by the revelations that Chuck had revealed.

He wanted to be the Intersect so he'd be worthy of her? Did he really have no idea how amazing he was? The last thing she wanted was for him to do this because of her. She wanted him to do it for him. Not that he needed the Intersect to be a successful field agent, but if he thought he could do more with it, then she'd stand by him. Give him the support he deserved. But the idea that he thought the Intersect would make him her equal . . .

He was already her equal. And in a lot of ways, he was better than her. He could deal with his emotions, he wasn't scared of them. Not like her.

Sarah took a deep breath as she walked towards her room. She hoped that Chuck realized that she really would support him, no matter what his choice was. Even if she didn't know how she felt about the choice he had to make.

Once she was in her room, with the door locked, Sarah flopped down on her bed. Gazing up at the ceiling, she let herself think about the kiss.

If the kiss in Mexico had been sweet, like milk chocolate, this latest kiss was more like dark chocolate. It was deeper, richer, more passionate. This time, he had cupped her cheek, his fingers warm against her skin, showing a confidence in his feelings that she wasn't prepared for. There had been no hesitation in his kiss, and she hadn't wanted to stop kissing him.

Rolling over on the bed, Sarah buried her face in her pillow. She had been so determined to keep her feelings under control, to put her career first. And now, here she was, distracted once again by her emotions and acting like a schoolgirl. And meanwhile, Chuck was trying to decide if he would become the Intersect agent.

Although really, was he still deciding? Sarah thought back on what he'd said during their lunch. How much he'd stressed being able to help people and not wanting to be a disappointment. If she had to guess, she'd say he was about eighty percent ready to become the Intersect.

That thought was . . . it was disturbing. No, it was more than that. It scared her.

Sarah Walker was scared. Not because she might have an unsuccessful mission or had the prospect of death facing her. But because Chuck might agree to get the Intersect, and it could all go horribly wrong.

There weren't any guarantees that the Intersect would work. There was still a lot that the scientists didn't know. What if Chuck's brain was damaged by it? What if he wasn't Chuck anymore, with his nerdy references and jokes and big, happy smiles?

She squeezed her pillow. If Chuck's amazing brain was destroyed by the Intersect, there was nothing that could be done. He'd be gone forever.

And as much as that thought hurt, she was even more scared of what would happen if the Intersect did work. She knew that Chuck was scared about how the Intersect might affect him. She was pretty sure that she was even more worried than he was, though. Because she had worked with plenty of field agents, and wouldn't the Intersect make him more like those field agents? She didn't think that would be a good thing. Because none of them surprised her, kept her on her toes, like Chuck did. And she liked being surprised when it was Chuck doing it.

If he had never been considered for the Intersect, Chuck would have to take a Red Test like any other agent. And doing that would have changed him. It would have started turning him into the kind of agent the CIA wanted, instead of the agent that Chuck could be: better than the standard cocky field operatives. In her opinion, Special Agent Chuck Bartowski would be a smart, dedicated, empathetic spy. There wouldn't be anyone else like him.

But the CIA didn't like originality or out-of-the-box thinking. The agents that were different were too unpredictable, too hard to control. So the Agency would work on them, trying to shape them into something more acceptable.

Perhaps the Intersect was a blessing in disguise, allowing Chuck to hold on to his humanity, hold on to that special quality he had that let him trust the world. But perhaps it wasn't. Was the Intersect how Chuck would become ordinary? What if he turned into some robot, a run-of-the-mill field agent with no real feelings, no thoughts except the mission?

She was going to be a deep cover agent. She'd have a partner, and she had to admit that she was hoping there was a way her partner could be Chuck. But she wanted to work with the real Chuck: the funny, smart guy who believed in treating people right. She didn't want to work with the Chuck that the CIA wanted, an agent who was arrogant and self-centered. If he turned into the traditional agent, there'd be no chance for-

Sarah swallowed and sat up. She wasn't used to doing all this thinking. Although if she was honest, she wasn't thinking-she was moping. And she didn't want to be moping. She needed to get some answers.

XXX

The laboratory building for the Project Omaha scientists was located several hundred yards away from the classroom and barrack buildings for the recruits and instructors. Like all the Project Omaha buildings, it looked run-down and ramshackle on the outside. But stepping into the building revealed a very different world. Inside, everything was spotlessly white floors and walls and shining stainless steel equipment. Scientists in lab coats with pocket protectors moved around the equipment, studying MRIs or other scans and scribbling notes on reports.

Sarah managed to get the attention of one of the scientists, after having to wait a few moments for him to look up from his papers. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Perseus, please."

He stared at her for a long moment, then jumped. "Perseus? Oh, yes, he's just over here." The scientist stood and lead her on a wandering path through the lab benches and work stations, until they reached a small private office. Without a word, he turned and walked back to his station, mumbling softly to himself.

Was that behavior strange, or just what was normal for the scientists here? Sarah didn't know the answer to that, and rather than keep thinking about it, she tapped on the closed office door.

After a long moment, the door was jerked open by Perseus. "Yes?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.

Sarah put on her best charming, non-threatening smile. "Hello, Perseus. I'm Agent Walker. I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I was hoping I might have a few minutes of your time?"

"Wha-why?" The man seemed very flustered, Sarah noted in confusion. He was fidgeting with his glasses, shifting from one foot to the other. The scientists stayed separate from the rest of Project Omaha, but the one thing everyone knew was that the creator of the Intersect was a true genius. But this man didn't seem to fit with that image.

"Because you're the lead scientist on the Intersect, and I have some questions," she said, trying to not let her paranoia get out of hand. As a spy, she had well-developed instincts, and they said that something strange was going on. But she also knew that sometimes, things weren't as they appeared.

Perseus frowned. "Um . . . of course. Yes. Well-come in, Agent Walker." He stepped aside so she could enter his office.

"Thank you," she said, stepping inside and taking a seat. This office was even more spotless than the lab. But more than that, this office looked like it was barely used. There weren't any papers or coffee cups or other signs of use. She almost expected to run her finger over the desk and pick up a layer of dust.

"So, you have questions," Perseus said as he took a seat at the desk, folding his hands on top of it.

Sarah nodded. "I'm friendly with Agent Bartowski, who, as you know, has been selected as the Intersect candidate. Pending his decision, he'll be getting the Intersect upload, but . . . but I wanted to ask what might happen to him."

"He'll be the Intersect Agent."

She could have groaned at how literally he had taken her question, but instead, she kept her smile in place. "Of course. I was wondering, though, whether the Intersect might have an effect on his personality."

"Well, of course, we are always learning about the brain," Perseus said, settling back in his chair with the sound of a professor beginning a lecture. "There's built-in redundancies, of course. And several examples in the literature of people with brain injuries that begin using a different area for certain skills. Examples much less well-known than Phineas Gage and the other famous cases."

"But would Agent Bartowski be a different person if he got the Intersect?" Sarah pressed.

Perseus cleared his throat. "There's no guarantees, of course, Agent Walker. But I feel safe in saying that . . . no. His personality should not be affected by the Intersect upload."

"Are you sure about that?" Sarah pressed.

"As confident as I can be, Agent Walker. The Intersect won't have any impact on the parts of the brain that affect personality. He should stay just the same. There were some who saw that as a problem, but-" He stopped, looking scared.

"A problem?" Sarah asked, leaning forward. "What do you mean, Perseus?" She locked her eyes on his, not wanting him to evade her question.

The scientist stuttered. "It-he-there was some talk. About how Agent Bartowski isn't the . . . the traditional CIA agent. And that perhaps the Intersect might-might address that."

With his words, all of Sarah's fears that had been held in check increased twofold. She could feel her jaw tightening, her hands clenching. The CIA did want to change Chuck. Make him into their perfect agent, deadly and cold and hard. And that would wipe out the man that he was, the man who was so much better than any other agent, any other man she had ever met.

She narrowed her eyes at Perseus. "Just what do you mean?" She could hear the ice in her voice.

"I-I mean, of course, it was just talk!" Perseus's face was flushed. "We don't have the capability to do that. Maybe, someday, we'd be able to include skills in the Intersect. Languages, instrument playing, things like that! But that's beyond Orion's reach now-"

"Orion?" Sarah said, interrupting the babble of the scientist.

Perseus suddenly looked like a puppy who just had an accident on a priceless rug. She could see him shrink back into his chair, his shoulders slumping.

"Perseus, who is Orion?" Sarah asked, leaning forward.

He sighed. "Orion created the Intersect."

"What?" Why hadn't she heard anything about this? That there was someone else who was responsible for the Intersect? The thought that someone else actually created the Intersect at least explained her suspicions about Perseus.

"Orion is the real lead scientist on the Intersect," Perseus said. "I . . . I'm like his foreman. He didn't want to leave his secret location to come here, so I run things and report back to him. He's the one who really designed the Intersect."

"Why . . . why didn't he want to supervise all this in person?" Sarah asked, her mind trying to accept this new info.

Perseus shrugged. "No one really knows why. His mind is brilliant-what he's come up with is amazing, and the CIA was willing to give him whatever he wanted in order to get his final designs for the Intersect. He's already working on the next version."

Sarah nodded, lost in her thoughts. Just when she thought she understood everything, another secret was revealed, giving her a different perspective as well as a lot of questions. Questions that would remain unanswered. If Perseus wasn't the real brains behind the Intersect, she wasn't sure she'd get any real answers.

She took a deep breath and looked at the scientist. "Is this safe? Is the Intersect safe?"

"It is," he said, his gaze direct for once. "As far as we can tell, there won't be an unacceptable risk to Agent Bartowski. From the simulations we've run, the research we've done, the chance of something going wrong is under five percent. Which, considering the nature of the Intersect, is about as good as it's going to get. Orion stands by his work, and I don't doubt him."

"I . . . I suppose that's the best that you can do," Sarah said. She slowly stood up. "Thank you for your time, Perseus."

He stood as well. "Of course, Agent Walker. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She looked at the small, nervous-looking scientist. There was a question on the tip of her tongue, about whether he would let someone he cared about be the one to upload the Intersect, but she held back. That wasn't fair to ask him. And his answer wouldn't make her feelings any easier to untangle. So she shook her head, gave him a professional smile, and walked out of the office.

When she arrived back at her room, there was a piece of paper stuck to the door, her name written on the outside. She didn't recognize the handwriting, and she felt her heart beat a bit faster after she opened the note and saw Chuck's name at the bottom of the page.

She stepped into her room and closed the door behind her. Quickly, her eyes ran over the short note.

_Sarah__:_

_I__'__m __sorry __for __earlier__. __I__'__m __lucky __to __have __a __friend __like __you__, __and __I __shouldn__'__t __have __let __myself __get __carried __away__. __You__'__ve __given __me __so __much __help __over __the __last __two __months__, __and __I__'__m __really __grateful __for __that__. _

_I __hope __that __no __matter __what __I __decide__, __we __can __still __be __friends__, __whenever __our __paths __cross__._

_Chuck_

Sarah swallowed as she read over the note a second time. There was a lingering sense of . . . sadness, a feeling of goodbye, in this note. Like he had given up on having something more with her.

She carefully folded the note and sat down on her bed. Today had been altogether too overwhelming, too emotional. She had reached a point that she didn't think she could think or feel anything else. But at the same time, she wasn't able to push aside her thoughts and feelings, partitioning them and acting like her normal self. She wasn't able to act like a trained spy should.

This . . . this couldn't go on. Not like this. Somehow, she had to find a way to balance what she wanted with what she was supposed to do. She had to make a choice about what was more important to her.

After five years of training, it was strange to take a step back and realize that what she wanted and what the CIA wanted weren't the same thing anymore. Her perspective had shifted. She wasn't the same agent she had been last year, when she had taken her Red Test. When she had become a full agent, she had felt a sense of completion. She'd finally achieved what she had been working so hard to do, and it seemed like her whole future would be full of successes.

She'd work in deep cover. She would get to see the world, perform exciting missions. She'd be one of those agents that everyone knew and respected and admired. Every day would be a different country, a different mission, and she could be a different person. Someone who didn't have a con artist for a father, one who raised her to hurt innocent, trusting people. She would be whomever the mission required, and at the end of it, she'd move on to the next one.

But now, she saw her future differently.

Sarah Walker wasn't just a name and a few carefully-selected personality traits, like Jenny Burton or Rebecca Frankel or any of the cover identities she had when she was growing up. Sarah Walker . . . that was who she was. She was a spy, but . . . but she was more than that.

Sarah Walker liked sleeping in. She believed in working hard. She didn't like failing. She was willing to indulge in a chocolate croissant, because she was also willing to make up for the extra calories with a harder workout. She actually liked pink, but she liked keeping that to herself. Sarah Walker was a woman who believed in loyalty and duty. She thought that there were few honors greater than serving her country.

With a deep breath, Sarah looked at the note in her hands. She also believed in honesty. So perhaps it was time she was honest with herself.

She was worried about what would happen if Chuck took on the Intersect. Even with Perseus' assurances, she was pretty sure that he would change. He had already changed from the man she had met in Mexico. The training, the new experiences, the risk . . . he'd matured, grown. The changes weren't all bad, but he wasn't that wide-eyed young man anymore.

Maybe this would have happened to him anyway-maybe he'd have gotten this way if he'd gone off and founded a software company. And after all, everyone changed as they got older. She was changing right now, and who could say whether she was changing for the better? The only one who could judge that was herself. So it wasn't her call about whether Chuck growing up and changing was a good thing or a bad thing. All she could judge was whether he was the kind of person she still wanted to know. The kind of person that she wanted to be friends with.

Sarah pulled her knees in against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and taking a deep breath. She knew the answer to that question. She had become more and more interested in Chuck, more impressed by him, with each day she had known him. Seeing how he changed . . . it was eye-opening. It made her learn that anyone could change. And that change wasn't bad, the CIA's thoughts on that topic to the contrary.

Her eyes were drawn to the note she still held in her hand. The note that seemed to say goodbye without using the word. Was that what she wanted? To see him occasionally, work on missions together, and then go their separate ways? Maybe they'd get dinner together once in a while, or chat while they were waiting for a ride home from a CIA station. But they wouldn't even be friends.

That was the last thing she wanted. She wanted . . .

Sarah closed her eyes. "Be honest," she whispered.

That wasn't what she wanted. She wanted . . . she wanted a relationship with Chuck. Because she . . .

With a groan, she opened her eyes and got up from her bed, starting to pace in her room. Why was it so hard to admit what she felt, even to herself? She knew how she felt-why couldn't she think the words, let alone say them?

If there was anyone who deserved to know how she felt, it was Chuck. He was . . . amazing. Smart, funny, sweet, yet strong and loyal and true. She felt safe with him, she liked spending time with him, and there was a snap and crackle of physical chemistry between them, one that was getting harder to ignore.

Just like it was impossible to ignore that she had fallen for Chuck.

She felt the heat flooding her cheeks as she realized she had done it. She knew what she felt. She loved him. She was in love with Chuck Bartowski. Somehow, with his smiles and his eyes and his jokes, he had gotten past all the shields around her heart, and she had fallen for him.

Sarah felt a smile grow on her face even as butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Sarah Walker had fallen in love with someone, and if she needed a sign of how much she had changed from the girl Graham had recruited five years ago, she had it.

Somehow, Chuck had become more important to her than any other person. More than her father, more than Langston Graham, more than anyone.

She sank down onto her bed, trying to control her breathing. Just because she knew how she felt didn't make all the issues go away. The barriers to their relationship, both personal and professional, were still in place. Chuck still had to decide what he'd do with the Intersect, and she'd have to react to his decision. And she had to decide what to do about her next posting. Deep cover was not an assignment that helped relationships. The stress, the loneliness, the lack of connection with your real life-it was no wonder so many deep cover agents ended up fooling around with their partners, cheating on their significant other back home. And she didn't want anyone other than Chuck.

Sarah felt energized. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It was time to start planning.

XXX

The next day, Sarah took her time getting ready. She had spent the rest of the previous day, and a good chunk of the night, thinking about what she was going to do today. But by the time she had fallen asleep well after midnight, she was confident that the approach she'd formulated would work.

The first step was finding out what Chuck had decided. If, as she anticipated, he had agreed to take on the Intersect, she would stand by him. She was worried, yes. She might even admit that she was scared. But that wasn't enough to make her not want to be with him. If anything, she wanted to make sure she could be there for him. Support him, reassure him, distract him-whatever he needed.

And she'd do that by admitting she had feelings for him. Feelings that they would have to keep quiet, due to the CIA's policies. But she had disobeyed orders for him already; she wasn't willing to let something like internal guidelines get in the way of what she wanted. Especially when she knew those guidelines hadn't been enforced in the past, depending on the situation.

Once she had told him that she wanted to be more than friends, they would figure things out from there. She knew it might be difficult to change her next posting from deep cover to joining Chuck's team, but she was willing to call in several favors to make that happen. If he wanted her on the team, that is. She hoped he would, but they'd have to discuss it.

She found herself drifting off into a daydream: imagining working with Chuck, sharing jokes and smiles as they completed missions. And then they'd finish work, and go to wherever they lived and have dinner and spend time together and . . . and more.

Sarah knew it wouldn't be a fairy tale. But she felt, after everything they had gone through together, that no one could blame her for having a few unrealistic daydreams.

After a quick shower, she took the time to carefully do her hair and makeup. Then she pulled on a pair of form-fitting jeans and her favorite top, a sleeveless v-neck in a deep, rich purple. It was a softer look than she normally wore, but she was hoping to see Chuck after he talked to Bentley, and she wanted to look more like Sarah than Agent Walker.

Glancing at her watch, she quickly finished getting ready and left her room. She hoped that she wasn't too late to give Chuck some silent encouragement before he went in to speak with the director.

As she left her room and headed towards the administrative offices, she saw recruits gathered in various spots: the common room, the hallways, and in classrooms, all talking eagerly. Some were smiling, others looked sad, and a few looked furious.

It would seem that the news about Chuck's status as the Intersect candidate had gotten out, she thought. She hoped he wouldn't freak out about his decision due to all the attention.

Sarah moved by a small clump of recruits who lowered their voices as she walked past. But she was sure she heard one of them say "Bartowski."

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into Director Bentley's office. Her assistant nodded to Sarah. "Good morning, Agent Walker."

"Good morning," Sarah said. "I'm waiting to meet someone."

The assistant's forehead wrinkled. "You're not scheduled to meet with Director Bentley . . ."

"No, I'm not. I'm waiting to see someone who's supposed to be meeting with the director," Sarah said.

"Her schedule is clear this morning, I believe."

Sarah frowned at the assistant's dogged determination. "I thought Chuck Bartowski would be seeing Director Bentley this morning."

The assistant's confusion cleared. "Oh! I'm sorry-Agent Bartowski came here last night."

Now it was Sarah's turn to be confused. "What?"

"Agent Bartowski came here last night to tell Director Bentley his decision about the Intersect."

"He-he did?" Sarah didn't understand what was going on. Chuck had decided that quickly? Was it . . . did he make up his mind faster because of what happened during their lunch? Could that explain the note he had left?

The assistant nodded. "Yes, he told Director Bentley that he'd upload the Intersect, and then he asked for three days of leave."

"Leave?" Sarah repeated, feeling a chill fall over her.

"He wanted to take some time off, he said. He went to the airport last night after he talked with Director Bentley."

Sarah swallowed. "Oh. Thank you." In a daze, she turned and left the office, wandering the corridors on autopilot.

Chuck had said yes. He was gone until Saturday. And he seemed to think that she didn't care about him.

Had she missed her chance?

End, Chapter 11

XXX

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: I hope I don't get too many tomatoes thrown at me for the ending of this chapter. There's only one more chapter and the epilogue remaining, so I hope the tension isn't too much for y'all!


	12. Chapter 12

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 12/13

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

**Author****'****s ****Note**: Nearly the end of the road, guys . . . there will be a short epilogue that I'll be posting later this week. I hope you enjoy what happens in this chapter!

XXX

With a happy sigh, Chuck leaned back on the sofa and sipped his second beer. Asking for leave had been the best idea he'd had in a long time. He needed to see his sister and his best friend before he took the biggest risk of his life. After his lunch with Sarah, he had spent the afternoon thinking only to realize that he already knew his choice. He'd known it even before he saw Sarah.

Because honestly, how could he choose not to accept the Intersect? Not when it meant helping people, doing more than the CIA could do now. Becoming a spy meant that he couldn't just think about himself; it was about the bigger picture. The Intersect would help him do what he'd said all along was his reason for joining the CIA: to make a difference. To be a hero.

He could at least do that. Even if it meant he couldn't get the things he wanted.

Chuck took another sip of his beer, failing to keep his thoughts from turning to Sarah. It was clear that although there was something between them, she wasn't willing to take the chance. He knew that there was a warm, kind, smart woman underneath her reserved Agent Walker exterior. He'd hoped that she'd be willing to drop those walls for him, but it apparently wasn't to be.

"That's definitely a 'deep thoughts' face, little brother." Ellie sat next to him, holding her own beer. She lightly tapped her bottle against his.

He smiled at her. "Cheers. And thanks for putting me up for the last few days."

"If you stayed in a hotel, I'd have even less time to see you." She gave him a small smile. "And contrary to what I always said when we were growing up, I did miss you when you were gone."

Chuck laughed. "Wow. If the fifteen-year-old Ellie could hear you now . . ."

Ellie laughed, too. "She wouldn't believe it."

"Nope," he agreed.

"It really has been great seeing you, Chuck. I'm sorry I couldn't get off work-I feel like we've barely talked at all."

"Don't beat yourself up, El," Chuck said. "Without giving you advance notice, I knew it was a long shot that you'd be able to get off work. I just . . . I just wanted to see you and Morgan."

"Well, you've spent plenty of time with Morgan," Ellie said, her voice equal parts jealous and disgusted.

"C'mon, Ellie, he's not that bad."

"I'll be the judge of that. All you two did was sit around and play video games."

"It's what we like to do," Chuck protested. "And we talked while we played."

"Talked smack about the other players," Ellie retorted. "But enough. I'm not going to waste your last night here arguing about Morgan."

He grinned at her. "Thanks, sis."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, taking a sip of her beer. "Something's bothering you."

At her words, Chuck felt his body tense. They had always been close; time apart hadn't changed that. Ellie had recognized that he was stewing about something. She had that stubborn, 'you are going to tell me what's wrong' face at the moment. And since he couldn't tell her about the Intersect or the CIA, he'd have to talk about Sarah.

"Those freaky big sister powers of yours are still strong, I see." Ellie smiled and shrugged, but didn't say anything. Chuck took a deep breath.

"You remember the woman I told you about? The one I was interested in?"

Ellie nodded eagerly. "Her name was something with a S-Sarah?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, Sarah. I . . . I told her I liked her."

"And?" Ellie asked.

"She said she needed more time," Chuck said with a sigh.

"More time? What does that mean?" Ellie said, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

"It means she's not interested in me," Chuck said, taking a large swallow of his beer.

"No, it doesn't," Ellie protested. "Maybe she really does need more time. It might not have anything to do with you, Chuck."

He sighed, laying his head back on the couch. "I put it all on the line, El. I came clean with my feelings, waited to get the signal, and then I kissed her. And she pulled away and said she needed time."

"When did this happen?"

"Right before I came here," Chuck said.

Ellie poked him in his shoulder, making him turn to look at her. "Then when you go back, you see her and find out if she's had enough time to decide. And if she hasn't, then maybe she's not worth waiting for."

"She is," Chuck said. "She's . . . she's amazing. Beautiful and smart and . . ." He let his voice trail off, knowing that otherwise he'd start listing all of the wonderful things about Sarah, and he could see Ellie was bursting with something to say.

"You're a great guy, Chuck. Any girl can see that. I'm sure this time away has convinced her that she wants to date you."

"I don't know, Ellie . . ."

"Hey, who's the one with the inside track on how women think?" Ellie asked. "I am. I bet that once you go home, you'll find out just how she feels about you."

Chuck gazed at Ellie. She had always been more confident than him. Always certain that you could get what you wanted if you worked hard enough, if you believed in yourself. And that's how it was for Ellie. She was a doctor now, working at a great hospital, with a boyfriend who couldn't live without her. Chuck wasn't sure that whatever gene allowed for getting what you want was present in him. But . . . but maybe his sister was right. Maybe Sarah had just needed some extra time.

Ellie patted his shoulder. "Don't give up so easily, Chuck. You could miss out on something amazing."

"I really like her," Chuck said softly. "I think . . . I think we could be really good together."

His sister smiled at him. "Then give her one last chance."

Chuck nodded slowly and gave Ellie a small smile. He still had doubts, but he also had hope. Maybe with a few days apart, Sarah had decided what she wanted. He'd noticed that she always seemed to take extra time to consider her words and her actions. It wasn't surprising that she'd be extra cautious in a situation like this, thinking a lot to know what she wanted. And with everything that was in him, he wished that she wanted him.

XXX

Returning to McClellan Air Force Base and Project Omaha was strange. He'd gotten so used to the place in the weeks he'd spent there, but after being gone for three days, he was looking at it with fresh eyes.

As he walked through the halls, heading towards his room, he realized that he wasn't the only one with a different perspective on something he had taken for granted. He was stopped several times and congratulated by other students. Some of the congratulations seemed forced, like they were upset that they hadn't been picked as the Intersect. But Chuck was a bit surprised that most people seemed happy for him. They were sincere when they said he was the best choice, even the people that he barely knew.

He got his hand shaked and his back pounded so much that by the time he reached his room, he felt a little sore. It was just the beginning, he knew. With the end of Omaha, there would be a special ceremony tomorrow to honor everyone. Chuck knew he'd be recognized at that ceremony, but he was trying not to worry about being the center of attention like that. And the morning after the ceremony, he'd receive the Intersect upload.

Chuck took a deep breath and dropped his duffel on the bed. He heard the sound of laughter and a few slamming doors and grinned a little. Since training had ended yesterday, the whole barracks seemed noisier and more lively than it had ever been. It reminded him of how the frat house had been on the last day of classes, with everyone celebrating and having fun before they buckled down for finals.

That made him feel nostalgic. Instead of unpacking his bag, Chuck left his room and headed towards the computer lab. He should try emailing Bryce one more time. Tell him how he was thinking about the old times at Stanford and how he wished they could be friends again.

He nodded to a few people as he walked through the halls, accepting some more congratulations. He was nearly to the computer room when Nick stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Bartowski," Nick sneered.

Chuck took a deep breath. "Hi, Nick."

The other man ignored his attempt at being polite. "So you're gonna be the Intersect. Guess the powers-that-be realized it wasn't gonna work out, so they found some guinea pig to be the sacrificial lamb. Someone expendable, who'd never be able to cut it without extra help."

Wow, that was an impressive mixed metaphor, Chuck thought to himself as he tried to keep his face neutral. "I hope not," he said levelly. "I know you're disappointed, Nick, but you shouldn't be. You've got a lot of great opportunities ahead of you."

Nick glared at him, his stance aggressive. "You might think you're hot shit, but if you ever run into me in the field, you better watch your back."

The other man seemed like a powder keg, ready to explode. Chuck took a step back but maintained eye contact. "Nick, there's no need to-"

Suddenly, Nick's fist flew towards his face. Chuck reacted instinctively, grabbing Nick's arm and using his momentum to spin him around and pin his back against the wall.

He looked into Nick's eyes, keeping his breathing under control even if on the inside he was feeling a bit shocked at how quickly, how automatically he had reacted. "Cool off, Nick. I don't think you really want to do this." He stepped back, releasing the shorter man and putting some distance between them.

"What's going on out-"

A chill went down Chuck's spine at the sound of that familiar voice. He hadn't realized their voices had traveled so far, down the hall towards a group of instructor offices. And now, Sarah Walker was standing in the doorway of her office, her hand gripping the door frame as she looked at them.

Nick shoved Chuck aside and stalked away in the opposite direction from Sarah's office. Chuck couldn't help feeling a little grateful that Nick was so lost in his swirl of anger that he hadn't noticed the tension between Sarah and himself. But now that they were alone, that tension was all that Chuck could think about.

Sarah looked pale, he thought. As he slowly walked down the hall, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming his nerves, he got close enough to see the dark circles under her eyes. Was it because of what had happened between them? Maybe she had spent these last three days thinking about a relationship with him, as Ellie had predicted.

Seeing her again after a few days apart, Chuck felt short of breath. Even pale and tired, Sarah was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Looking into her eyes, he felt his doubts start to fall away. There was something about her that made him feel confident, determined. Like he could get anything he wanted, if he tried.

He stood in the hallway, keeping the appropriate distance between them, and cleared his throat. "Hi, Sarah."

"Hi, Chuck," she said softly, looking up at him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about her seemed different. Or was he just imagining that?

For a moment, he felt lost in her oh-so-blue eyes. Then, when he realized he was staring at her, he came back to himself. Shaking his head, he shifted his feet. "How . . . how are you doing?"

She licked her lips before answering. "I'm good." She looked at him, then spoke quietly, her voice steady. "I heard on Wednesday morning that you had already told Bentley you would become the Intersect."

"Yeah . . . once I decided, I didn't want to put off that conversation," Chuck said. "And I had gotten the idea to ask for leave, so . . ."

Sarah nodded. "What did you do with your days off?"

"I went home. I saw my sister and my best friend. It was what I needed to get ready for the Intersect."

"Oh," she said quietly, then straightened her shoulders. "I'm glad you got the time off, then."

"Me, too," Chuck said, gazing at her. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you before I left-in my note, I mean."

"No, it's all right . . . I understand," Sarah said, her voice unruffled.

He took a closer look at her, trying to figure out just what she was feeling. He'd known for a long time that she had the best poker face he'd ever seen; she didn't reveal anything she didn't want to show, not unless she had been pushed to a breaking point. During their lunch on Tuesday, she had seemed to be working hard to maintain that expressionless mask, especially once he had pushed her to open up. But he didn't want to push her, not really. He didn't want to be that kind of guy-he wasn't that kind of guy. So even though he had Ellie's encouragement to not give up so easily ringing in his ears, he swallowed and took a step back.

"You must be busy . . ." he began, giving her a way to end this stilted conversation.

She smiled a little and shrugged her shoulders. "Things are winding down, but that just means there's a thousand tiny little things to be taken care of." She looked like she might be getting ready to say something else, when the phone on her desk rang shrilly.

"One minute," she said to him, then turned to answer the phone. She spoke quietly for a moment before hanging up. He thought he heard a small sigh escape her lips, but he wasn't sure.

She turned back to him, an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Some last-minute details about the ceremony tomorrow."

He nodded, feeling the disappointment settle over him. This wasn't how he wanted this reunion to go. He'd hoped that they could find a way to talk, to figure out how they felt about each other. But the distance between them seemed too great, even though he was standing less than six feet from her. All he knew was the feeling he had when he was sitting on the couch at Ellie's, the certainty and hope he'd had, was slipping away faster than Morgan's tokens when playing DDR at the arcade. "Of course."

For some reason, Sarah hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with some papers on her desk. She spoke suddenly. "Before I forget . . ." she said, lifting a book from her desk and holding it out to him.

To his surprise, Chuck saw that it was his copy of _The __Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide __to __the __Galaxy_. He looked at her curiously.

"I read it while you were gone," Sarah said, stepping out of her office and locking the door. "I liked it a lot. Thank you for lending it to me."

"You liked it? Really?" Chuck knew he sounded shocked, but Sarah didn't seem to mind.

"I did. I mean, it's not what I'd normally read, but . . . but it was funny, like you said." She gave him a quick smile. "I have to go. I'll see you later, Chuck."

Chuck watched her walk away, holding on tightly to the book. She really had liked it? That was . . . Jill had hated _Hitchhiker__'__s __Guide_. Not long after they had started dating, he had hesitantly lent it to her, promising her that she'd enjoy it. But she hadn't. In fact, she had only read six chapters before giving it back to him, saying that she didn't see the point.

Yet Sarah had read a book he had recommended. She thought it was funny. She liked it.

He was a nerd, he knew. But there was something about the woman he had fallen for, a woman he thought was amazing and who was definitely not a nerd, liking the book that was one of his favorites, a book that was really nerdy . . .

Chuck turned towards the computer room, feeling an extra spring in his step. If he didn't already love Sarah Walker, he did now. It was still uncertain whether she was interested in him or not, but he wasn't going to let her go without trying one more time. He had one last chance with her, and he wasn't going to waste it.

XXX

The next day passed in a blur. There was reams of paperwork for him to fill out, both to signify the completion of his training and also as part of the Intersect preparations. Chuck was pretty sure he had agreed to pay the CIA if anything went wrong, instead of the other way around. There was also a set of preliminary tests with the scientists, to make extra certain that there was nothing about his brain that would interfere with the Intersect process.

And now, he was wearing his dad's old suit, sitting in the front row as Directors Graham and Bentley applauded the recruits for the success of Project Omaha.

"It was your hard work and your abilities that let us see that this project wasn't nearly as far-fetched as some thought it was," Director Graham said in his closing remarks, glancing over towards Director Bentley. "Congratulations to all of you, and best of luck in your first postings." He lead the audience, made up of the recruits, the instructors, the Omaha scientists, and some bigwigs, in a round of applause.

"Thank you and good evening," Graham said, stepping away from the lectern.

Chuck stood up gratefully, glad to not have to sit in that uncomfortable chair any longer. He loosened his tie, bracing himself. Before the ceremony, he thought he had shaken the hand of everyone in this room, but from the group of people around Director Bentley that kept looking over at him, it seemed like there were still more congratulations to be accepted.

Then a soft hand clamped over his, and he heard Sarah's voice. "Come on, Chuck." She tugged him out of the room through a side door, moving quickly.

"Sarah?" he asked in confusion, having to break into a light jog for a few steps in order to keep up with her.

They had reached one of the small lawns that dotted the air force base, a few hundred yards from the nearest building. Sarah dropped his hand and gave him a small smile. "Typical power play. Graham had you meet all of his people before the ceremony, and he told me to get you away at the end before Bentley could gather her crowd."

"Oh," Chuck said. "Why would he do that?"

"I think he's punishing her for not fully buying into the Intersect idea at first. That's what I've heard, at least."

Chuck nodded, feeling a bit out of his depths. Not just from the CIA's brand of office politics, but from being on the edge of making a last-ditch effort to win Sarah Walker's heart.

He stood a bit awkwardly, racking his brain for something to say. Unfortunately, his brain was running a bit slower than normal, thanks to Sarah. She looked absolutely beautiful, wearing a black dress that revealed her arms and a lot of her legs. There was something about her, something that let her wear her beauty like a set of clothes that she barely noticed. He wondered if she had any idea how gorgeous she was, and how attractive he found her.

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself as the mid-October breeze kicked up. It was after sunset, and the temperature had dropped. Chuck shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Of course," he said quietly, savoring the chance to be this close to her.

She smiled at him and held the jacket with one hand. "Thanks." She breathed deeply. "It feels good out here, after all that hot air."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah." He smiled at her. "You . . . you want to walk some?"

She gazed up at him, her face looking uncertain. Like she was considering several different actions but wasn't sure what to do. Then, she nodded slightly. "I'd like that."

He gestured ahead of them, and they started to walk slowly across the lawn. Lights were sparkling throughout the landscape, representing houses filled with families, restaurants full of friends. Chuck looked out, wondering if he'd ever have something like that. Now that he was a spy, he'd always be on the move.

Glancing at Sarah out of the corner of his eye, he thought that he wouldn't mind so much not having a house or a "normal" life. Not if she was a part of whatever kind of crazy life he would be living.

"It's really nice here," he found himself saying, looking at the side of her face.

"Yeah . . . it really is," Sarah said, looking out at the view.

"It-it takes me back. To Mexico. Not that this place is a lot like Cabo, but . . . you know." He swallowed, feeling flustered.

Sarah took a breath. "Yeah, I do." She turned to face him. "Chuck, I know you're getting the Intersect tomorrow, and I said I'd support you. And I do. I . . . I'm just worried for you."

"I'm worried for me, too," he said. "A lot. But-but it's good to know that you support me."

"Of course I do," she said softly.

He shrugged and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the grass. "You might have changed your mind."

A silence fell between them, one that was a bit stiff and formal. He glanced at her, trying to think of something to say, only for her to beat him to the punch. "Have you found out what agents are going to be on your team?"

He looked at her in confusion, trying to adjust to the change in subject. "Um . . . no. I was told I'd meet them when I arrived in Rome."

"Rome, huh?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. The team's being put up in a villa outside the city . . . the pictures look amazing."

"It's definitely a nice perk. Italian villas are few and far between-on most assignments, you're in seedy motels and crumbling houses."

"Yeah, so I've heard," he said, still smiling at her.

She smiled back, looking more relaxed than he'd seen her in days. The sight of her smile, the warm, happy one that he loved to see on her face, gave him a shot of courage. Before he could speak, though, she turned to face him.

"Chuck . . . I have something to tell you. Actually, it's more of a question." She gazed up at him, her eyes searching his face. He felt his mouth go dry as a million different ideas sprang into his mind. She was going to ask him to leave her alone. She was going to reveal that her heart had been broken and she'd never love again. She needed him to forgive her, because she really had a very handsome, very Superman-esque boyfriend that she was crazy in love with and he was going to marry her and give her everything she wanted.

Somehow, he managed to speak. "I-I'm listening."

Sarah gave him a small smile. "I know. That's one of the things I like about you. You're always ready to listen."

Deep inside him, Chuck felt a wave of fear and regret. This had all the earmarks of a "you're a great friend, Chuck, but . . ." speech. His jaw clenched, trying to hold back the flood of words that were eager to come out of him. About how much he wanted her, how he'd do anything if she'd just consider giving him a chance.

The breeze blew some hair into her eyes, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear. "Chuck . . . would it be okay if I joined your team in Rome?"

Chuck blinked. What?

He shook his head. "I'm sorry . . . did you just ask if you could join the team?"

Sarah pulled his jacket a bit closer around her shoulders, looking nervous. She nodded. "Yes. I . . . I want to work with you."

Work with him? What did that mean? What about her deep cover assignment, the one she was supposed to be starting as soon as she was done with Project Omaha? Why did she want to work with him? Did this mean she had never been interested in him, and she was just trying to improve her career by working on a high-profile mission?

He shook his head, immediately dismissing that thought. Sarah wasn't like that. Yet he was still utterly confused by this turn of events. His relationship with Sarah had never been easy to figure out. This latest twist made him feel like she had started speaking Elvish.

"I think we work really well together, and I know I could be really helpful to the team, and-and I don't think I'm ready for deep cover just yet, so I thought . . ." Sarah's voice trailed off, her face flushing in spite of the chilly air.

"Sarah-where is this coming from?" he asked, feeling lost. "I mean . . . all you've been talking about is working undercover . . ."

She took a step towards him, coming within an arm's length of him. "I know . . . but I've been thinking a lot over the last few days, and-and things have changed."

"What's changed?" he asked, looking at her with narrowed eyes. He still had a very bad feeling about this. She was only talking about work, she'd been so distant with him since he came back from leave, and she still hadn't said anything about how she felt about him. He wanted to believe that she was working up to something, that she was trying to find a way to talk about her feelings. He knew that she had a hard time letting people in. But a small, doubtful, always-unhappy part of him whispered that she was about to break his heart.

"Chuck, I-I've done nothing but think since you told me . . ." Sarah paused, biting her lower lip, then sighed. "I'm messing this up so much, but I don't know how to tell you that I, that I-"

"Just say it," he said, his voice sounding strained and unfamiliar. He swallowed, clenching his jaw. "I-just tell me, so I can stop wondering if this, if you and me, is something I wanted so bad that I tried to make it real."

The wind whipped more hair into her face, hiding her eyes and most of her face from him. Her body was tensed, like she was poised to run, to turn her back on him and this whole crazy, gut-churning moment.

Chuck stood still, waiting to see what she'd say. When she stayed silent, he felt his heart plummet. His whole body hurt. He had to get away from her. Away from this heartbreak.

Without conscious thought, he shifted one foot behind him. He saw Sarah's eyes widen, and suddenly, her arms were around him.

"Sarah?" he said dumbly, gazing into her face which was now only inches from his own.

Sarah's eyes were bright and very, very blue. "Chuck, it's real."

He stared at her, knowing that his mouth was hanging open. "Wha-what?"

A big, toothy smile spread across Sarah's face, and he boggled at the sight. He'd never seen her look so _happy_. Instead of saying anything, she slid an arm from around his shoulders and used her hand to gently push his chin up, closing his mouth.

And then she leaned in and kissed him. _She_ kissed _him_, for the very first time.

One of her hands gripped his shoulder, while the other held the back of his head. He felt his eyes falling shut as he responded, his hands going to her hips and holding her tightly. This-this was what he wanted. Sarah, kissing him, wanting him. Him, Chuck Bartowski.

He never wanted this moment to end.

It was only the need to breathe that made him stop. Panting, he looked at her. She was breathing just as hard as he was, looking up at him. Sarah's cheeks were pink and her eyes looked dazed. With a fierceness he didn't know was in him, he knew he wanted to put that look on her face many more times.

Catching her breath, Sarah stepped a bit closer to him. "I'm sorry for taking so long . . ."

"Shhh," he said softly and quickly. He took a chance and brushed a soft kiss over her temple. "You needed the time to be sure." He hesitated. "That-that is what you needed the time for, right?"

Sarah nodded, grinning up at him. "Yes." Her grin softened into a half-smile and she gazed at him before speaking. "You are something special, and I know I'm not easy to read, but I don't want you to think I don't care about you." She swallowed, looking a bit shy. "I do care."

Chuck smiled at her, reaching out to stroke some of her hair back out of her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her softly, cupping her face in his hands. She kissed him back, pulling him in closer. He let the kiss stretch out, savoring this amazing, wonderful feeling, before slowly letting the kiss end. He noticed that his suit jacket had slid off her shoulders, and he started to rub her arms.

"So what did you mean by asking to work with me?" he asked her quietly.

She looked up at him, her body soft and warm against his. Chuck tried not to gulp, and he carefully angled his hips a little so he could still pretend to be a gentleman. Sarah, though, must have sensed what was going on, because she gave him a saucy smile and moved to keep herself pressed against him.

"You're avoiding the question, Agent Walker," he said, grinning at her.

"Sorry, Agent Bartowski. I got distracted," she said, grinning back. "You started it, with the arm-stroking."

"I can stop," he said, letting his hands cup her elbows.

"Good, now I can think." She kissed his cheek quickly, then grew serious. "I do want to work with you. Deep cover operations . . . that's not the best circumstances under which to start a relationship. And besides, that kind of work has lost its appeal."

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "I used to want to forget who I was. Now . . . now I like who I am. So I want to stay Sarah."

Chuck smiled at her. "I like Sarah a lot, too."

Her answering smile was so unrestrained, he wondered how she had managed to keep it hidden for so long. "So I called in some favors, and Graham agreed to let me be one of the agents on your team, if you want me to be." She paused, looking like she was gathering her thoughts. "We . . . we'd need to keep this, our relationship I mean, pretty quiet. The CIA sometimes turns a blind eye towards involved agents who work together, but only if the agents don't flaunt it."

"Well, that will be tough," he said, acting like he was reluctant to go along with this. "I mean, I have this really beautiful, amazing woman, and I can't shout from the rooftops how she makes me feel?"

Sarah laughed softly, and he smiled at her. "I'll manage," he said. "If that's the only problem standing in our way, I'd accept being able to hold your hand only on a full moon. It'd be enough, if I could be with you."

"It's not that bleak," Sarah said, her hand lightly stroking his shoulder. "We'll just have to be discreet."

"I can do that. I can be very discreet," he said, stealing a quick kiss from her. "See? Wasn't that discreet-even downright sneaky?"

"Oh, very sneaky," Sarah said, smiling up at him.

Chuck smiled back. It was amazing, how he had gone from despair to elation in such a short period of time. Just from Sarah finally letting him in. He really did feel like shouting or singing or dancing.

He pulled her against his chest, feeling her fit against him perfectly. He spoke softly, right into her ear. "Will you come with me tomorrow?"

He felt her nod against his neck. "Nothing could keep me away."

Her response made him tighten his arms around her. It was like he had everything he could ask for: a promising career that he could share with the amazing woman he was holding right now. Tomorrow, he'd face the Intersect upload with Sarah at his side. It was like he had just stacked the deck in his favor. With her support, he felt like he could do anything.

Chuck pressed his face against Sarah's hair, smiling to himself. He was still worried about the Intersect, but for right now, he was going to enjoy having Sarah Walker in his arms.

End, Chapter 12

**Author****'****s ****Note ****Two**: I hope that ending was worth all the build-up over the last twelve chapters! Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed this story so far, and I hope you enjoy the epilogue that's to come.

You have **Lipton ****Lee** to thank for the early posting. I had said I was bummed out that I wouldn't really get to enjoy that happy flush of posting this chapter if I posted it tomorrow, since the two of us would be going to see The Avengers. So she said, "Post it early!"


	13. Epilogue

**Title**: Discovering Omaha 13/13

**Author**: dettiot

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: For Chuck, it's a chance encounter. For Sarah, it's a mission. But what happens when the spy remembers she's also a woman and the man realizes he could be a spy?

XXX

It took quite a lot of Sarah Walker's training to school her face into careful neutrality as she walked through the quiet halls of the Project Omaha barracks. Because on the inside, she couldn't stop smiling.

She had Chuck. And that simple fact made her feel warm and happy and safe, for the first time in what felt like forever.

Sarah bit her lip, keeping a big goofy smile from appearing on her face. As much as she wished she could give in to this newfound giddiness, she couldn't ignore what today was. In an hour, Chuck would begin the Intersect upload. And at the end of it, he'd either be himself with a lot more information in his brain, or he'd be . . . gone.

Logically, she knew that the chance of something happening to Chuck was small. He'd have some of the best scientists in the world monitoring him, making sure nothing went wrong. But to consider that she might lose him, so soon after realizing what he meant to her-

She rolled her shoulders, trying to banish the tension from her body. She didn't want to make Chuck nervous with her own worries. He would probably already be on the verge of a freak-out, his calm wearing down as the moment drew near for him to become the Intersect.

Once again, she wished that they could have spent the night together. Not to have sex, although the idea had been very tempting. But if she could have stayed with him, she thought she could have helped him, as well as reassure her own fears. However, Chuck's roommate was one of the few recruits remaining overnight in the barracks, and neither Chuck nor she wanted the word about their relationship to get out so fast. So after spending a few hours talking and kissing, they had gone to their separate rooms to get some sleep.

Her cheeks flushed as she remembered his good-night kiss, one that had curled her toes and left her panting. Chuck Bartowski was talented, smart and very special. He also had devastating charm and magic lips, and he seemed completely unaware of those facts.

When Sarah reached the door to his room, she took a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Then, she lightly knocked on the door.

Within a moment, Chuck had swung the door open. He gave her a small, composed smile, even as his eyes danced. "Good morning, Agent Walker."

There were rustling sounds coming from behind him-his roommate was awake, Sarah guessed. "Good morning, Agent Bartowski," she said, matching his tone. "Ready to go?"

He nodded and stepped out of his room, pulling the door shut behind him. Then, after a quick look around, he leaned down and kissed her quickly. "Good morning," he repeated, his voice now soft and warm.

"Hi," she said quietly, gazing up at him. He smiled at her, his full happy smile, and she felt warmth spread through her whole body. "How did you sleep?" she asked him, searching his face for any signs of a sleepless night.

"Really well, actually," he said, resting his hand on her back and guiding her gently down the hall.

"That's good," she said, fighting the urge to take his hand.

"Yeah . . . it was a bit hard to fall asleep. I was thinking a lot," Chuck said, pressing his hand a bit more against her back. "But once I fell asleep, I got plenty of rest. I'm all set for today."

Sarah nodded. He didn't sound nervous or look worried. But she couldn't help being concerned.

"You're not nervous?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Some, yeah," he said. "Of course I am. But . . . but the decision's been made. And I do believe in what we're trying to do with the Intersect. And there's you."

"Me?" Sarah asked, stopping and turning to face him. What did that mean? He wasn't still thinking that he had to get the Intersect in order for her to be interested in him, was he? She had done her faltering best last night to explain all her feelings to him, but maybe she hadn't done a good enough job.

"Yeah, you," he said softly. He brushed his fingers over her hair, gazing down at her. "Knowing that you believe in me . . . I feel like I can do anything, Sarah."

She swallowed. "You can do anything, because . . . because you're Chuck," she said softly, gazing up at him. Her words didn't feel like enough, so she leaned up and kissed him. At least she could show him, if she couldn't tell him. Someday, she hoped that it'd be easier. That it wouldn't be so hard to be instinctive when it came to her emotions. And with each kiss, each caress, she felt one more brick in the wall around her heart crumble.

He kissed her back tenderly, his hand stroking her cheek. She felt him smile against her lips, then he pulled back and gazed at her. "Thanks," he said quietly, his fingers still stroking her cheek.

Sarah let herself lean into his touch for a moment, then she sighed and straightened up. "We need to get going."

Chuck nodded and pulled his hand away. "Yeah. Ellie always used to say to me, 'work first, play later'. Today's an extreme example of that."

She gave him a small smile. "I guess so."

"Right, I see how it is," he said, gently bumping her shoulder with his. "Little Sarah Walker always ate her vegetables and did her chores without asking and got straight As." Chuck grinned at her as they walked down the stairs.

"Hardly," Sarah said, laughing softly. She hadn't told Chuck much about her past, and it was a conversation she should be dreading. Yet strangely, she didn't think telling Chuck about her life as a con artist's daughter would be that bad. He had a gift for putting her at ease, for making her feel comfortable. It let her manage her fears, her worries about letting him in. It was getting easier and easier with each moment they spent together.

She took Chuck's hand and held it loosely as they walked out of the barracks and towards the laboratory building where the Intersect upload would happen. His hand felt a bit damp, but his fingers didn't twitch and he didn't clutch at her hand. When they reached the building, Sarah paused and looked up at him.

Chuck had started breathing faster, and she could see the tension in his body. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Okay?"

He nodded, then shook his head. He looked down at her with widened eyes. "It-everything-it suddenly feels real, and . . . oh, my heart's gonna come out of my chest." He pressed his free hand to his chest.

"Chuck, Chuck, listen to me," she said, tugging on his hand. "You can do this. I know it's scary, but I'm going to be right there with you, okay?" She moved closer to him, rubbing his arm gently. Her voice sounded a bit like a drill instructor's, so she tried to put some warmth into it. "I believe in you, Chuck," she said softly.

Slowly, Chuck stopped panting, and his body relaxed. He finally nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"All right?" she asked.

He nodded again. "I'm okay. I'm ready."

"Okay," she said, gazing up at him. They both seemed hesitant to step inside.

Chuck swallowed, then pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. "Sarah? If . . . if anything goes wrong . . . could you get this to my sister?" She could see a name and address written neatly on the front of the envelope. "You can just put a stamp on it and put it in the mail. I just . . . I don't want her to think I've vanished on her. Not with how our parents did that."

Sarah somehow managed to speak around the lump in her throat. "Of course, Chuck." She took the envelope and put it in the pocket of her jeans, looking down. If something did happen, she wouldn't mail it. She'd take it directly to his sister, so she could meet Ellie and tell her just how amazing her brother was.

He looked relieved that she'd agreed to his request. "Thank you."

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts and look up at him. "Chuck . . ." she said softly, trying to find the words to say. "I can't imagine what this is going to be like, but . . . but if things look bad, you have to fight." She looked at him, feeling nervous and shy. "We . . . we have a lot to look forward to."

He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes saying volumes, telling her that he understood. Then he gave her a sheepish grin. "How about a kiss for good luck?"

There was still so much unspoken between them, so many worries about what today would hold. But she knew he didn't have any doubts about her, and he was ready for this, even if he was nervous and a little scared. They could use all the luck they could get.

So with a tenderness she didn't know she had, Sarah pulled Chuck's face towards hers and kissed him slowly. The kiss seemed to last forever and for a moment. When she finally pulled away, Chuck's eyes were closed and his face was slack. When he opened his eyes, looking dazed and content, she smiled at him. "Good luck."

His answering smile was fast and wide, giving her hope. They could do this. He'd get the Intersect, and then they'd be off to Rome, and they'd be together.

Chuck squeezed her hand, then let go and reached out to open the door of the lab.

XXX

Stepping into the laboratory building, Chuck held back a shiver. The building was freezing, or maybe it was just him. He'd been struggling with his nerves ever since they'd come in sight of the lab, and he could feel Sarah's eyes on him, watching him with concern. He glanced down at her and gave her a small smile. She smiled back, and he took a deep breath, feeling himself calm down a little.

He wished he could hold Sarah's hand, but he knew that she wasn't quite ready to do that in front of her boss. And given who would probably be watching the Intersect upload today-Director Graham, General Beckman from the NSA, and other dignitaries-he knew that they couldn't reveal their relationship like that.

At least she was here with him.

Chuck took another deep breath, then walked up to Perseus, who was standing in the middle of the clump of scientists a couple of yards away, all of them oblivious to the arrival of Sarah and himself. "Hi."

Perseus whirled around, looking excited and nervous. "Agent Bartowski! Good, good, you're right on time! Let's get you ready."

He nodded. "Yeah. I . . . I'm ready." He glanced quickly at Sarah as he was lead away, drawing strength from her. She gave him a small, encouraging smile before she disappeared from his view.

Over the next two hours, Chuck was given a thorough physical-was it really necessary for them to be as thorough as they were, he wondered-and hooked up for another of the seemingly endless MRIs that he'd taken over the past few days. They took his clothes away, assuring him that he'd get them back once he was done for the day, and gave him a hospital gown that felt entirely too short. Once he had changed, he was left alone in the exam room, waiting for the next step.

After a few minutes, Perseus stepped into the room and looked at him. "Well, Agent Bartowski, we've got a green light."

He nodded and tried to rub some of the sweat off his hands and onto his gown. "Right. Okay, let's get started."

"First, let me explain what will happen," Perseus said, adjusting his glasses. "I'm going to take you to the Intersect room. You'll be seated in a chair in the middle of the room. When we start the upload, the room will be dark. Then, you'll start seeing the images displayed all around you. Just relax and keep your eyes open, and the upload will begin."

"How-" Chuck's throat was dry, and he swallowed, trying to get enough saliva to speak. "How long will it take?"

Perseus looked apologetic. "Several hours, I should think. But we'll be watching you closely, and we'll have an IV to provide you with fluids."

Chuck nodded. "All right." He took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

The lead scientist smiled at him, in a way that Chuck supposed he thought was encouraging, and then lead him through several halls. He opened a doorway, and they stepped into a very large, very white room. Perseus left Chuck there, muttering something about final checks.

Chuck shifted on his feet, feeling his nerves return. He knew he had to stay calm, so he started looking around the room. There was the padded chair in the middle of the room. Nothing else was visible: no computers, nothing. There must be a control room somewhere nearby, which would contain all the computers and monitoring equipment. He could see a large glass window near the ceiling, and he guessed that was an observation room. Sarah was there, he thought, and he couldn't help taking a long look at the window, even though there was no chance of seeing her through the mirrored glass.

"Agent Bartowski?"

Chuck turned towards Perseus, who gestured towards the chair. It looked much more intimidating now, especially when he saw the restraints on the arms and legs. He slowly sat down, and the technicians started fussing with IVs and monitors. The lead scientist looked at Chuck and adjusted his glasses. "As a precaution, we'll be restraining you, Agent Bartowski."

"It's a precaution to strap me in?" Chuck asked, feeling his fear increase. "I don't think . . ." He stopped and tried to calm himself down, tried to push away the nerves and the uncertainty. "I'd rather not."

"Director Bentley insisted on it, Agent Bartowski," Perseus said. "We must make sure that you are positioned correctly to acquire all the images."

Before he could argue with Perseus any more, Sarah stepped through a concealed doorway. He felt his worries ebb as she walked over to Perseus at a brisk clip. "I'm sorry, Perseus, but Director Graham has requested that we make Agent Bartowski as comfortable as possible. If he doesn't want to be restrained, he doesn't have to be."

Perseus sighed. "Very well." He gestured towards the technicians, who stepped away from Chuck.

As Sarah came closer, Perseus took a step back. She crouched down a bit in front of him, filling his field of vision, and lightly rested her hands on his forearms. He took a deep breath, trying not to look like he was freaking out. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Chuck," she said softly. "I saw what was happening when I got into the observation room, and got Graham to back me up on no restraints."

He managed a weak smile for her. She smiled back. "Just breathe." She looked at him, her face composed but her eyes soft and tender. She lightly rubbed her thumbs against the skin of his arms. "I had no idea your legs were so good."

Chuck laughed, even as he felt his ears turn red. He felt himself relax, and Sarah smiled at him. "That's it, Chuck."

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks, Sarah."

"You're gonna do great," she said quietly.

"Right. I'm gonna try," he said, gazing at her. Remembering her words from before, he spoke in a low whisper. "I'm gonna fight for us."

She gave him another soft smile, her eyes shining at him, then stood up. "I'll be right up there in the observation room. I'll see you later."

He nodded, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Later." He watched her go, marveling that such an amazing, beautiful woman was interested in him. He held tight to that feeling, to all the moments with Sarah, as Perseus and the scientists finished their work. Their voices were a distant hum as Chuck prepared himself for the Intersect.

It was hard to imagine that being recruited by the CIA, finding a way to succeed during training, and being selected as the Intersect had all started on a Mexican beach. If he hadn't met Sarah, if he hadn't shared that special night with her, he might not be here now.

Chuck turned his head and looked up towards the observation room. That meeting changed his life, in ways he had never expected-mostly for the better, he thought. True, there were still problems ahead. Ellie and Morgan still didn't know the truth about him. He wasn't sure what kind of field agent he'd be, having to handle weapons and defend himself. As good as things were with Sarah, they still had a lot to learn about each other. And of course, there was still the Intersect.

Perseus' voice cut into Chuck's thoughts. "Agent Bartowski, we'll be beginning shortly. Good luck."

He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

The scientist nodded to him, and he followed the last technicians out of the room, going through the same concealed door that Sarah had used.

The sound of the door closing echoed loudly in the room. Chuck glanced up at the observation room one more time, then turned to face the wall across from his chair. He felt his stomach twist with nerves, and he focused on his breathing.

His life hadn't turned out like he had planned. He'd expected to work for a software company, spend time with Ellie and Morgan, hopefully even find a way to get over Jill and start dating again. Instead, he was a spy, he had a beautiful girlfriend, and his future was full of amazing possibilities.

There was so much to live for, Chuck thought. To fight for. So much that he wanted to do. With Sarah, for himself, for his country. He gripped the arms of the chair, waiting for the upload to begin. He wanted to get the rest of his life started.

The lights in the room shut off suddenly, and Chuck felt his stomach tighten, knowing that it was starting. The walls of the room, which now were revealed to be video screens, flickered to life. It was like the TV wall at the Buy More, he thought: capable of displaying a large image or hundreds of smaller ones.

The first image was a yellow rose, spread across the whole wall. Then there was a flash, and the image was broken up into thousands of smaller ones. Chuck squinted, trying to identify what he was seeing.

And then the Intersect upload began.

"Agent Bartowski?"

Chuck blinked. His whole body ached, like he had finished a really, really hard workout. His brain felt fuzzy and noises seemed extra loud.

"Agent Bartowski, can you hear me?"

He nodded and shifted. He was sitting down in some kind of chair, in . . . in a hospital gown? What . . . ?

The memory hit him. The Intersect. It had been uploaded. Had it worked? Was there anything wrong?

The haziness was starting to lift, and Chuck looked at the man who had been speaking to him. He was balding, with glasses. He was acting like Chuck knew him. But . . . but did he?

Chuck frowned, trying to figure things out. He licked his lips. "Hi . . ."

Suddenly, the man was pushed aside, and a beautiful woman appeared before him. Chuck almost gasped at the sight of her.

"Chuck?" she said softly, her voice full of worry and concern and . . . and something else. Something warm and soft and good.

"Sarah," he said softly, not having to think at all to come up with her name. And when she smiled at him, a big bright one, he found he was smiling back at her.

End

**Author****'****s ****Note**: First, before the tar and feathers gets broken out: yes, I have ideas about how to continue Chuck and Sarah's story. I'm going to rest up, get **Chuck ****vs****. ****the ****Wildcat** finished, and then I think I'll be ready to write the next story.

I truly do hope you've enjoyed **Discovering ****Omaha**. It's been such a huge pleasure to share this story with all of you, and I hope you've laughed and sniffed as you've read. If you have, that's the greatest compliment.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed this story. Thank you to **Lipton ****Lee**, for being a sounding board and nitpicker. It was during one of our many fic conversations that the original idea, of Chuck and Sarah meeting in Mexico pre-series, came about, and I'm so grateful that she let me take the idea and run with it.

See you soon!


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